Mysteries

Becoming OK is a constant journey. It really is. For me OK is a success sometimes. It's all you can ask for a lot of the time, and most of the time that's where you're at. And that's just fine. It's OK. Just OK, spectacularly OK. Ok?

But there's this inkling of wanting to "fix" it. Let's just get this out there: I think fixing things is dumb. Of course, fixing (aka maintaining) something before it's broken, that's fine, but once something is broken, it can literally never be what it was before. It will always be slightly unstable. You will always remember that time when it was broken, especially the moment right before it collapses from beneath you, leaving you on the ground wondering what the eff happened. Had you known it was broken would you have sat there? Was the sit right before a good sit? Usually it was just OK, but you only realize that after. And that's not OK.

I'm reminded of a chair I used to have in my kitchen. It was a wooden Baker chair I had inherited from my aunt who had inherited it from my grandma Bette. It didn't quite fit in with the kitchen, more for a dining room, but I made due, because that's what you do in your twenties. Anyway, last Thanksgiving my roommate and I had friends over to celebrate, and somehow or other the chair was sat on, and later was broken. And it was fine. No one died. It was just broken. It was just a chair that used to work, and didn't anymore. Fine. Whatever. What wasn't fine was that we later "fixed" it, and still that chair broke again. A nice enough chair, but still, just a chair that you have for a while, and have to rethink having. And it sucks, doesn't it? Having to get rid of things that used to work?

Ah, metaphors.