Humor me please and let’s call it a paraphrase of the refrain in this song, shall we?
But not so fast just yet, please. Let’s take a closer look:
Tune in. Ahhh…. OK. I’ve been already failing that part for most, if not all of my life. I don’t say this in a way of meaning to whine about myself or my life. It’s just a barebone observation. I’ve never been completely tuned in. With just about anything. But I got very good at pretending that I had. (score 1 – or maybe not even scoring at all…? Beats me).
Cop Out: Yeah. More like it. I got that part down pretty well. Pretend to be tuned in, then cop the hell out while you can. Also and at the risk of flattering myself – on second thought: why should it be a “risk” and not a “trait”? – I’ve become an expert on this. Tune in just far enough so you get the idea of what life might actually feel like – then dash off as fast as lightning! Yup. And good timing is everything, baby!
Turn loose? Hm. I’m drawing a blank. Don’t think I’ve ever come even remotely close to any of this. Turning loose as in: Relinquishing all control, all imagined “power” over anything or anyone, deliberately and consciously giving in to the experience at hand? In other words: Living in the so-called “now” (we’d have to have another lengthy debate about exactly how this now is established – or its closest representation of it). Nope. Never been there. BUT:
I think that’s exactly where healing starts. Give up. Give in. Relinquish all the need to hold on to whatever it was you thought you had to hold on to. Come on, let’s just face it: At the end of the “day” – which actually means at the end of our lives – it’ll be like we’ve never existed. Noone cares for much of anything we ever think we’ve accomplished, now do they? If you want your name on a tombstone for a little while, you have to be able to afford it. Which means: You have to have the means to pay for it. If and when you don’t – sorry, pal, you’ll go unnoticed for the rest of eternity. (as I will). Besides: A tombstone? Come on! For what: Another 20, 30, 50 years? And then? Your kids, your grandkids, your grand-grand kids will have passed on, too. And your name is … lost in the interaction of quarks and stuff.
So, at the risk of being boring (which would bother me a lot more than the risk of being a narcissist – because we all are): Why. The fuck. Not. Turn. Loose?!