Union of Two

You ever find yourself in a situation you’ve been in many a time, and many a time that situation turns out predictably miserably? Yet one time you’re in that same scenario, but something has changed, and it’s you, so now the situation is better than all the times previous, and — what I’m getting at is we all tell ourselves a story. We are story-telling creatures. Okay, maybe not creatures (sounds like a multi-legged thing) but animals. Yeah, that’s it, we’re story-telling animals :) Better? And as story-telling animals, we tell tales of not only our days but our circumstances to each other and, most importantly, to ourselves. And those can be riddled with judgment words like “bad” or “stupid” or “perfect”, which can lead to an array of layers of problems, namely expectations, forced. Or narrow-mindedness (which, yes, can be a good thing, commonly called focus, a more positively associated term). These expectations have outcomes attached to them, and thy brain is working towards either creating that outcome or avoiding it — even if it’s not actually on the horizon. I mean, I could tell you an epic laundry list, read off an old-school scroll so long it falls to the ground, about exes of mine that went down such mental roads. Stories told to themselves, then to me, and then the glee of argument would ensue if we weren’t already in one.

So yesterday I was hanging out with my mother. Usually, this is a somewhat tedious affair with small talk or her listening to my angsting about life circumstances that she can’t help me with or with my listening to her go on about something I barely care about while she stares off in that way when you know that the person isn’t really having a conversation with you, but is rather just accessing and dumping out their bevy of dormant thoughts. But this time, I dunno, something was different. I think maybe it was because before I got to the mall (we ate at the food court; her idea) I told myself, and it just took literally a few seconds, to have a good conversation with her. I had this idea, almost like, and you could call it a, wish. Or prayer or spell. Or a story. A short story about me, a little ol’ person meeting up with (gender redacted for the sake of mystery) mother for a lunchtime chat, one with connection and bonding. And bond we did. For a couple hours. And I know the hard stop before the previous sentence would suggest a rather sad “but” is coming, but it was good the whole time. We bonded and talked about the history of invention, something that I didn’t expect pretty much ever. I unlocked a door within my mother, and therefore within myself, for in union, multiple persons can become one.