The Turtle and The Scorpion

Letting go and moving on

Just recently, I’ve had a very clear idea of what I didn’t want to write. The Board of Executives in my head has had a very clear opposing view. This is why the end result has been stalemate and nothing written and so I’ve had to concede there’s probably some internal housekeeping that needs to be done in order for me to move forward and move on. I’ve also had to give myself a bit of a mental kick up the arse in terms of, this is personal and it really doesn’t matter who reads it or what they think; this is solely for my own benefit so get it done.

For those of you not in the know, a few weeks back now, I had a little bit of a personal crisis in that I broke up with a friend I had been very, very close with for a number of years post a situation I wrote about here. I’d intended to write a follow-up and then changed my mind for the simple reason that I was far too hurt and angry. I didn’t want to write angry. I didn’t want to say things I might later regret and, as a result, I’ve struggled to write anything at all.

After a while, when the anger didn’t immediately subside, I decided it was maybe best to let the whole thing go and not talk about it at all. It became the thing I didn’t want to write about. Instead, I skirted around the situation. I super-cleaned and purged my house, to within an inch of its fragile little life. I sincerely think I may have put my old crib at serious risk of irreparable structure failure on account of the amount of cleaning I’ve done and I’m also now virtually living as a Spartan on account of all the things I’ve dispensed with. Having run out of things to do indoors, I’ve moved outdoors and I’m working in every window of opportunity the weather allows.

Despite the fact that I’ve never felt better in my life and my ship is so in order the Navy could take notes from my regime, I know full well what I’m doing and that I can’t keep it up indefinitely. Oh, the routine I’ve developed, yes, that I could keep up because it’s now become a necessity to my well-being. It’s automatic, as automatic as coming into the kitchen and making my first cup of coffee. I like it, no, I love it. Everything is so spick and span and ordered that I feel as safe and secure as I always did during my all-too-brief time in the Army. I loved the Army. I loved the order, the routine, the loyalty and trust and camaraderie. If there’s any one thing I perhaps miss the most in my entire life, it would be the Army. My regrets have lingered thirty years, but that’s another story and not today’s.

The point of today is that I’ve been avoiding dealing head-on with what happened, and especially with my feelings of anger and resentment. I told myself I didn’t care and, to a good degree, I’m very good at putting up walls and not caring. Underneath it all, however, I know I bloody well do care and I am hurt and angry and upset.

Mostly, looking at it with those wonderful gifts of hindsight and introspection, I realize I’m angriest at myself. I brought this entirely upon myself. I knew it was coming, I’d seen ALL the warning signs and red banners (forget the piddly little flags; these mothers practically blotted out the sun!) and I closed my eyes and told myself I had it all under control. I had about as much control as the Coast Guard has over a tsunami!

I fucked up. That’s the bottom line. I fucked up, as I’ve done countless times before, and this time I needed to take a very good long hard look at how I’d let myself get into this, again, so that this, finally, is the last time.

First of all, let’s get out of the way, right now, that I in no way blame the Muse for this. This one’s on me, in its entirety, and I’ll explain that shortly but, for now, let’s just make this clear first. The Muse is not to blame.

So, how did I fuck up? And how is this not at least partially also on the Muse?

Have you ever heard the parable of the scorpion and the turtle? A scorpion wants to cross the river and he begs a turtle for a ride. Then, when the turtle agrees, they’re halfway across and the scorpion stings the turtle. As the turtle is dying and they’re sinking into the river, the turtle asks the scorpion, “Why? Now we’ll both die,” and the scorpion replies, “Because I’m a scorpion,” implying he had no choice because it’s simply in his nature.

I’m a turtle. I can’t help myself but to rescue people and the people I have a tendency to choose to rescue are invariably scorpions, incapable of change. It’s not their fault that they can’t change. They’re pre-programmed by the very nature of their experiences and, let’s face it, change is fucking hard. I know. I’ve been struggling for years, and am still struggling, against the chains and constraints of my own pre-programming.

The Muse is not to blame because she’d literally told me, on numerous occasions, that she had no intention of changing, didn’t want to change, and saw no need to change. Oh, for sure, there were times she said what she thought I wanted to hear, and, again, in hindsight, I knew she was being disingenuous, whether intentionally or not. I knew her truth, and I chose to ignore it and keep on swimming across that damn river.

I was the turtle and I was the fool. I only have myself to blame.

Good things have come out of this experience. The brief (in the grand scheme of things) period of anger and hurt I’ve experienced post our break-up is nothing in comparison to what I’ve gained. I have no regrets and, like I said, we were very good friends for quite a number of years. I hope she learned something useful from me and maybe, one day, she’ll realize she’s worth a great deal more than what she went back to. It’s never too late.

As for me, I didn’t fall. I don’t. I climb right back up and I assess what happened so that it won’t happen again and I take what I’ve learned and do better. I’m doing better. I’d hazard to say that I may very well have never done better in my life! This, writing it out, was the final hurdle to starting over and moving on. I forgive. Not the Muse, because there was never anything to forgive, but myself. I did what I thought was right and I have good, no, GREAT memories to take with me and there’s no blame in what went wrong. Sure, I might very well have provided the catalyst for how it ended, but it was due to end anyway. It was always destined to end. I forgive myself because I, too, did nothing wrong. We were friends for a season, and our season came to an end. That’s it.

With all of this said and my emotional housekeeping finally as up-to-date as my literal housekeeping, I think I’m good to go again. I’m okay. I’ve managed to cross the river and survive my scorpion and now I can pick up and move on.

Life is good.

To ALL of you fabulous writers out there,

Kia kaha and aroha nui. 💞

Fighting! 👊