words

It's not that I don't have things to say, or the words to say them. Increasingly, I prefer expressing myself with pictures instead of words. And after an extended period of relishing a raw, open, cynical vulnerability, I find that I once again prefer to keep things to myself -- to build a little wall between you and me, to protect myself from the subtle pains and regrets. I do, in theory, want to be wide open for you. The problem is that I don't trust myself or my perceived honesty. From one day to the next, I see things differently. Monday's truths are Tuesday's blatant fallacies. The best I can hope is to latch on to those things that show a pattern of falling on one side or another. But of the things that are so changeable as to make my head spin, well, for now I suppose it's best to just keep them to myself.

I'm coming to a comfortable middle-ground with my existential unknowns. It is not answers, nor is it solace or relief. It is not faith, exactly, and it is not nihilism. It is just an ability to ponder and explore without debilitating pain and anxiety. I take this as the most convincing sign I've had that I am becoming, finally, adult. Not abandoning the playful curiosity of childhood, but shedding, finally, the insecurities and compulsions and anxieties and the pure madness of youth. Accepting, finally, the inevitabilities -- not embracing them, not excited about them, but accepting them. Which is infinitely better than fighting against something it is utterly impossible to alter.

So, I've been watching a bit of Bergman lately, especially the later stuff. Fanny and Alexander, the full 5 hour miniseries version, is fantastic, absolutely worth the time, totally recommended to everyone.