The Tortoise and the Hare

When I was a boy, no more than 16 years old, I had my heart broken, which I know is such a shock that in the thick of my adolescence I had become unequivocally infatuated with a girl who’s name escapes me so vigorously now that it’s almost laughable at how It had torn a massive whole in the fabric of my reality. Well my 16 year old reality anyway. After I was already shot in the heart I proceeded with caution, I was always very aware of my surroundings and the progression of my own emotions. I would never be caught in a spot where I would feel that type of pain again. I would just freeze in the moment. Between falling a million miles a minute, and being level headed enough to add a sense of realism to situations. I always thought that this was the best way to go about navigating my love life or sometimes lack thereof, but I always found it extremely difficult because I would fall for leapers, or serial daters, someone who knows the ins and outs of what it takes to be in relationships and to thrive, two people as one. I think I admired them because I was just scared to get hurt so I rationalized so meticulously that there weren’t any evident holes in my logic. Which allowed me to for lack of better words, to get away with being afraid essentially. I was prepared to live that way my entire life, just assuming that I wouldn’t be afraid eventually while simultaneously knowing that It wouldn’t be able to work. I think that I found comfort in that. Until I didn’t. She was different, but so familiar, a polar opposite of me I moved so steadily that my contradicting way of operating could go virtually unnoticed, but she disrupted it all, the way that she was so stagnant waiting, feeling, until she knew. And when she knew she was off, throwing her whole heart toward whatever she deemed worthy. I don’t think anything scares someone more than a person who can make you question your very foundation in which you based your thought processes on. Here I was steadily moving along and synchronously deteriorating any chance I had to be happy. I used to sit and look up at the stars because a lot of the time the serenity is the only thing that made sense, that fact that I was looking up and obsessing over this balls of gas that had died so many years ago, literally staring into the past the simplicity of it was beautiful to me. Brought me comfort, and also engulfed me, which is why I didn’t realize that an old man had sat down next to me on the bench that I had an unofficial reservation on whenever I needed to get away, into the past. He caught me extremely off guard when he spoke, “ I was like you a long time ago” he began, immediately my guard went up, he didn’t know me and I resented the fact that he presumed as much. “ I used to want to get away too,” he continued “ its a girl, its always about a girl, even when it isn’t. It always is.” I didn’t say a word, I hated to admit it but the senile looking man had me intrigued, I mean I was at a crossroads, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t seen multiple movies with a wise beyond even his many years man spits out words of wisdom that changes someone’s life. So I sat there, still looking up at the stars. “ When I was a boy, I heard the story of the Tortoise and the Hare”. Now I was positive any minute I was going to be surrounded by 9 men dressed in white scrubs armed with a straight jacket and white mystery machine type van with tinted windows. He was obviously crazy, but I figured he couldn’t be any crazier than me and If he was going to be tackled and dragged away I might as well hear him out. “ Its not that old nursery rhyme that teachers and parents tell children to help them realize the importance of taking their time. Its the real story and it’s actually a love story.” Well now, despite my best efforts I’m truly interested. “ We were always told that there was a race and because the Hare was so fast he was arrogant and fell asleep and the Tortoise stayed slow and steady and he won. Well. The truth is that the Hare was a she not a he, and they weren’t racing against each other but to each other.” So now my full attention is on this old man at 11 p.m at night on a park bench, just waiting for him to begin. “ The Hare was beautiful inside and out, she had been all over the world because she followed her heart and where she arrived she stayed until it had run its course, and then she was off again, chasing that feeling. That feeling of, being wanted, romantically, physically in every ounce of her being. There is truth to the part about her sleeping though because she moved with such speed and grace she tired easily, and that’s when all the feelings moved in on her, what she wanted, what she believed she needed because when you’re moving as fast as she did there isn’t much time to think or process, so when she took time to stop it was in that time she would dive into the deepest parts of her psyche to really decide if this is what she really wanted, and when she was ready she was off. But the Tortoise, On the other hand, wasn’t similar in any way. He was very slow but he considered it strategic he would calculate every move so carefully that there was never going to be a mistake, but he rarely covered enough ground to truly deem he was moving forward, even though he was. Slowly but surely. He was never one to use his shell because he didn’t want to hide, to appear as afraid of the world as he truly was, so he moved with tact somewhere in his head he believed that it was the best way to have the best possible outcome with the Hare. He had never made a journey like this in his entire life, due in part mostly to the fact that he moved so slow it was over before he became too involved, before he got too close. He wanted love, to be loved more than anything but he was so deathly afraid of what would happen if he was ever face to face with the one who caused him to realize that he was only merely afraid of getting too close, but catastrophically terrified of letting the Hare get away. Making her think that the way she operated wasn’t as thoughtful or meticulous because it differed from his. So he soldiered on. Two forces of nature, one slow and steady but ultimately afraid, and the other moving through the air with such force because she took the time to realize what she was flying towards. The world had never seen anything like it.” The man then takes a sigh and looks back up at the stars. It took everything in me not to explode with dissatisfaction at the potential ending of his story. “So what happened at the end?!” I exclaimed not sure if I was more angry or agitated at how severely the story had resonated with me. The man still looked up, as if he hadn’t just had an entire impromptu story time with me. “ What happened?!” I found myself yelling. He held a hand up, and I’ll never forget what he said next. “ You don’t look at the stars because you know what happens when their lives are over, we only see them on the journey to whatever comes next for them in their life. The journey is what brings us serenity because we have the ability to choose, and with so many things in life out of our control, finding something so beautiful that allows us the ability to control what we can control, like an ending to a beautiful story. That is the serenity, that is the reason we sit, and watch.” I was speechless and in that moment it didn’t take any more than three seconds for me to push myself from the bench and take off running. I honestly had no idea where I was going, because I can’t see the future, but for the first time in my entire life it wasn’t about the destination, I just knew that I was sure it’s where I wanted to go. I needed to find my own ending, whatever it turns out to be.