Everything you think you know, baby / is wrong. / And everything you think you had, baby / is gone.

Aryn says that life is complicated.

Is it? Really?

I have posed the argument to her, that life is simple.

That life is only as complicated as we make it.

She doesn’t disagree. Yet, even with that realization—and awareness surrounding it—what’s next?

Is it ever too late? Too late to create the life we want? To simply stop thinking and make life simple again?

I feel I see so much of what is wrong with the world today. And with myself. And, daily, I still make conscious—and stubborn—choices. To try to maintain this semblance of control.

Control, that doesn’t really exist.

My conversation last night with Patrik was illuminating. He said that I have to learn to be okay with not getting my way. Like, really okay. Simple.

Yet, as an only child, and Aryn as a youngest, we want our way. Victory or death! Forgetting that it is possible to make no mistakes and still lose.

I cannot speak for her, but I know I still maintain a level of expectation before I will proceed. It’s why I entertained the notion of being a lawyer in my (stupid) youth. The idea of anticipating all of the outcomes and choosing the best.

Like Freestyle. What a super power!

Yet it is not realistic. It is an anchor, holding me back from what I truly want—even if I’m still determining what that might be.

So, I travel. I seek and hang out with friends who embody what I want to be. Who I want to be.

And I still hesitate. Why? What’s the matter with me?

After all, I am currently among people who will not judge me for my truth… although they will for the walls. The masks. The deception.

First we try. Then, we trust.

We all have secrets, right? And I imagine I’m not the only one that feels shackled by some of mine. What will happen if someone finds out?

As much as I have written out over the last couple of decades, I have not even written the secrets out.

I was fascinated by the segment at the beginning of the latest Bond movie. About writing down your secret. Lighting it on fire. And releasing it into the air.

How liberating! Just symbolic? Well, perhaps I should choose one and find out.

After all, I am making choices all day. Every day. Yet so few of them actually serve me.

Especially when I make choices for her. When she may be perfectly willing to visit my madness. To spend time with me. Because she craves it with me, as much as I do with her.

Can trust and control coexist? As long as I am afraid of certain secrets being exposed, can I truly trust anyone? Can radical honesty really set me free?

I don’t know. And it concerns… no, terrifies me. I cannot even fathom being unguarded. And I don’t know how to lower that shield. I’ve learned to contract it, yet it’s still there.

Protecting me.

From happiness.

God damn it.