on looking at it differently.
So I’m back from the Karting event, and I brought home a hell of a bruise on my inner thigh as a souvenir. Yay!
The event was at the scene of the crime, which actually, is a whole lot less sinister than I expected. It’s not as if I hated the place. Knowing me though, I braced myself for the onslaught of delayed bitterness as I came back to the place after a year. I still remembered the spots, I still remember how it all looked like then, but the expected bitterness did not come. Probably it helped that the atmosphere was different, and that I was making new memories with people I actually like.
It was funny, actually. It did not feel very much different this morning. I was admittedly apprehensive, even thought of begging off the trip with the excuse that I was too sick, too cough-y to go. I figured that was lame though; plus, how will my boys ever get on without me? (This is what I love about my new team. I feel like such a girl around them. But I digress.)
So I did go. It wasn’t much different from how I remembered it before, but I was saved from reminiscing by constant chatter from the twins, and gratefully distracting conversation. I did not remember last year.
Well, not not remember. At least, I remembered the events, but all the feelings and emotions were gone. I can talk about it without the snideness and sarcasm and bitterness.
According to Robert Greene’s The Art of Seduction, you should bring your target to an a) isolated place, away from the banality of everyday life, and b) a place that is perfect for regression– a sort of coming back to the time in your childhood when trusting was very easy, and joys were very simple. That place is perfect for that.
It was perfect place to heal too. Each ride, each new experience opened up to me was something my brain resisted (it kept screaming in my head what an utterly foolish and dangerous activity the current ride was, and the only reason my body did not obey the screaming was the thought that I couldn’t leave the ride anyway even if I wanted to. So I shut up and didn’t let on how effing afraid I was. But I digress.), yet my heart accepted everything with a sort of relieved gratefulness. It told me I am not brave, but I am strong. I’d live through anything.
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