I used to think I’d found a way to bypass ostensibly detrimental emotion; that, for example, if at the exact time I was upset I realized the ephemerality of that feeling, and that it eventually ends, it would render the feeling impotent and I would stop being upset. But that never really worked except on the few occasions when the sadness, say, was too insubstantial and it went away by itself, so it was never my ingenious method but, all along, the intrinsic weakness of the factors involved. But now I realise how wrong I was, and how foolish my attempts at inhibiting my own emotion were: if not this, why—and more importantly, how—shall I feel anything else? Why not scratch off happiness too, banish passion as mindless obsession, and vilify longing as weak, despicable dependence?
I think this attempt at control by rationalization has failed, or maybe I’m too much of an impetuous, capricious teenager to implement it. But that doesn’t matter, not so much as this new acceptance: for now I will feel, and I will be petulant, I will be erratic and I will be reckless and I will love myself and hate him, and feel like bludgeoning him with a spiked Florentine war hammer when he’s wrong, and exult in his triumph when he’s not so wrong, and I will think he’s stupid, too, and I will make the best of it all, because I’m supposed to.
It’s not the so much the incident as the aftereffect, what I do after the reaction’s happened, and I think that’s where my focus should’ve been in the first place. And I think I was wrong about the point of emotion, too, because I’m not stoic and I can’t narcotize myself into self-satisfied analgesia by thinking hard, because that is attempting to oppose the very thing about emotion: its immediacy, its impossible avoidance, its necessity. That’s what truly defines emotion. Maybe it was arrogance, thinking I could achieve that, thinking I could tame the beast that few ever have.
Also, I want to go back to when I first listened to Coldplay and discover it all over again.