Post # 3 On Patience – The Arrogant Pilot

‘I used to think I was clever, those days and weeks when the world rolled under me.’


Patience. I used to think of it as something an honest and creative person can hardly commit to. There are so, so, so many things to do and see and eat and learn, that there literally is not enough time to even think them all, let alone plan them. If you’ve never experienced the watery mouth of a pre-meal Christmas morning, the anxious quivers before an impossible exam, or the eager anticipation before a holiday, date, album release, season, election day, new movie sequel, or silly soap opera new season, you’re either boring, bored or alien. In the first of these cases, I suggest you stop right here – I hardly would expect you to make any sense of this gibberish distortion and you’re probably too down to earth to even try. As for the other two: I don’t flatter myself enough to believe I can wake you from your torpor, or give you an accurate perspective of how complex and weird it is to be so very human. I suggest you humour me in my thoughts.

If, on the other hand, you are human and curious, I believe I can safely say that you must be, to some extent, impatient. If you really fancy something, you’d quite rather have it (or have it happen) now, rather the in a couple of decades. Sure, you might qualm your desires with anecdotes such as ‘it’s worth the wait’ or ‘good things take time’, but let’s be fair to ourselves: if they could put their hands on their object of desire then and there, I sincerely doubt any semi-sane individual would respond with ‘maybe later’.


‘You could be an excellent pilot, but if you don’t take any flight lessons to keep up with your potential, all you’re gonna see is the big ass tree at the end of the runway, before you smash your nose right into it.’


I used to think I was clever, those days and weeks when the world rolled under me. When I was so full of ideas and thoughts and plans that I could do anything and be anything. When my heart raced constantly at the prospect of encountering a new interest, a new person, a new place. When my thoughts were speed of light fast and no-one could keep up. I could learn French, watch three movies, listen to the entirety of Beethoven’s Symphonies, serve drinks in my college bar, go for a walk, climb a tree, eat three meals, go to lectures, talk to people, have a late night chat with someone till the wee hours of the morning and feel the despair of how twenty four hours are such a tiny amount of time to call a day and that sleep is the stupidest human weakness in the world. I could do so, so many things, work and live at a pace that could keep up with a taking off Jumbo, and I was obviously impatient to do them all.

The problem was, I never took off. It was as if I’d stolen someones worn out Champ and tried to keep up with that Boeing 747. You could be an excellent pilot, but if you don’t take any flight lessons to keep up with your potential, all you’re gonna see is the big ass tree at the end of the runway, before you smash your nose right into it. If you don’t train your actions to keep up with your thoughts, you crash. And I’ve crashed. Many a times I crashed, and hard, before I realised that maybe I ought to try something else before getting on the plane again, before I broke my neck and it became to late. Before I was stuck on crutches, or lithium, for the rest of my life.


‘Those thoughts that others couldn’t keep up with? Well, it turns out I couldn’t keep up with them myself.’


I remember what it feels like, that moment of elation when the wheels just barely leave the floor. When beauty fills your hearth with its joyful melody and you feel infinite, like a supernova that’s about to burst into a million shards of light and happiness, and you’re so afraid to lose it all. Sometimes it even last for a few blissful moments or weeks. And then it’s gone. Gone without explosions or spectacular combustion. And you are numb, empty and plain, and you don’t know what happened or how it happened. You’re just there, victim of a crash, incapable of looking after yourself. And it takes time to heal, just like it takes the arrogant pilot time to fix his broken leg and smashed up plane.

Those thoughts that others couldn’t keep up with? Well, it turns out I couldn’t keep up with them myself. They were so fast and confusing that they’d meddled with my brain, with my ability to reason and learn. They were so constant, annoying and invasive that they consumed me and my time, and never left me alone to feel. In all these years, I never once stopped to listen to myself and feel. How can anyone expect to survive a breathtaking sunset from a beach in Ilha Grande, without having learned how to understand and listen to ones emotions? I’m not saying I was a completely emotionless and dead. You can appreciate the aesthetics of a piece of art and even be fascinated by it, without it actually speaking to you. That is precisely how I see my life before I became aware. I lived aesthetically and over enthusiastically, jumping from one idea and affection to the next, and never allowing myself to stop and absorb the intensity of it all.

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