The first time she saw it this way was after a lifetime of conversations and pondering and wondering and putting herself under the microscope of why do I do the things I do. Some people never do that. Reach your hands and arms and other limbs under the glass to be held there and reviewed and examined. Oh I see here what we have. It was when she sat there wondering. After a conversation, a conversation she has had many times. Almost always the same. The undertone of it. Facing a different face. Similar words. And other than the task of being present. She couldn't help but wonder. What was her drug? Drug of choice. What was her way to escape?
And as she sat there in the others culmination of running away and being sent away and experimentation at a youngish age. It was the first time she actually understood as she examined the cells and movement of herself as the scientist and the sociologist and psychologist. Her own personal. Research. It is somehow easier to understand others than ourselves. So as the light shone down on her own white irish skin of “winter” of san francisco. It was there- success was her drug.
Success was her drug. Not in a way that she pushed small children and dogs to get on the top. But the addiction to success being successful and smart and capable were her escape were her drug. Her own success was so paramount she would give up sleep and drink buckets of coffee and run hard and fast from jobs to school to research projects maybe grabbing a drink of relaxation on the way. See as she, as I stood on the path on that crossroads of life in a childhood that made a lot more nonsense than sense, her body, my body moved to the side of running hard and fast towards success in school. In life. In jobs. No one could tell me no.
I didn't frolic with the drugs or the sex or the not going to school. The typical rebellion of teenagers multiplied by responsiblities and missing parents and new step parent which complicated it all. It is hard to find yourself amongst others for everyone. I don't know, know, when I sat at the crossroads or how I made my decision. But praise was mine breakfast, lunch, and dinner in assignments with student body this with captain that with church youth group leader on top of the heap of successes. Then college acceptances and scholarships rolled down the belt. I stopped looking at them and barely soaking them in and just discarded them in the pile next to me. Look at me. Look at all my success. How important I must be.
The drug of success inspired me to do much and to do it well. But without my own protection of anxiety and empathy and finding the new gift of failure I don't know who I might have become. Today. Although grateful for not having to release in the typical escapades. I did escape in a way. A way that did make me successful. But also made me move too fast and too hard and make being the best a price too high.
My drug and my desire for it is still with me as I breathe in and out and walk around this street, in this city, in my school, in my grad school, in this coffee shop. My need for it exists. Another hit of it would satisfy that little girl at the crossroads of life. It would make her happy. I still look for it. But in finding failure, I found what real success could be and it isn't the cookie cutter life I thought I had wanted all along.
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