the great sharpener of knives

Dear K-

I am pleased for you. There’s a certain furious, panicked excitement in the uncertainty, the anticipation of a potential cataclysm, for better or worse. You don’t need me to wish you luck but I shall do it all the same because you asked me to do so. I can almost see you, sitting in a stuffy white room in a chair that feels well worn, smiling with such a casual sense of ease as you navigate through a field of inquiries, plucking the best queries out like a choice flower from a bouquet, to hold and examine delicately as your expound upon its qualities, before you gently tuck it back into place before the interviewer. Then you lean back with eyes sparkling, glittering with the fire of your soul while the coffee rushes through your veins like a cataract, and give them another one of your warm, enthusiastic smiles. You will do beautifully. I have no doubt.

I am the sharpener of knives. It is what I do best, is it not? I apologize if my knives have ever found their way to hurt you; I never meant to bury them within you. Sometimes knowing me is enough to guarantee collateral damage. My life isn’t that terrible. I know I should be thankful and happy with what I have. And in many ways, I am. I am so, so very thankful for the opportunities I have been afforded and the successes I have found. But sometimes the world just weighs you down. I’m in a valley at the moment, and when I try to scrap my way up the rocks to make my way to the top of the hill, the gravel gives way and I slide back down to where I started. At the moment, I’m trying to decide whether or not I should just stay in the valley for a little while. Perhaps I will end up liking it here. Perhaps I am just wasting effort trying to climb the hill to reach some unknown that may not make me any more content.

It is dangerous to know me. It is a mistake to get attached. I have a friend who I’ve known perhaps two to three years now, and we’ve seen each other at least once a week for those three years. Lately, we’ve been seeing more of each other through various group social outings. He is a good person. I think he is a very kind soul and has many good qualities. But I fear he is getting too fond of me. And as much as I think he is a great human, I know that I can only bring him unhappiness. A younger version of myself would have interpreted his attentions as reason to start a relationship: oh look, this gentleman is actually interested in me! This is unusual! I like how this feels when someone is keen on me, so I think I’ll start a relationship so I can enjoy this on a regular basis. But now, older, jaded, I know that I could never make such a relationship work. He would always love me more than I could ever love him. And that isn’t a slight to his personality or ability; I just know my heart isn’t there. At one point it may have been, but it isn’t. I could never make it work and I don’t want to try. I love him enough to know that I could never love him enough to make him happy.

A part of me thinks he’s just another lonely person, a little shy of twice my age, and he may think that we would make a good match for simply that reason: two lonely people who get along well enough in most contexts might be able to entertain each other enough to consistently enjoy each other’s company in perpetuity.

On a related note, this same friend sees a therapist. I found out while rummaging through his wallet to try to help him find a lost slip of ticket. The ticket stub was absent, but instead I found several reminder cards for appointments at a therapist. A very selfish, disgusting part of me later wondered if he ever brought me up at therapy. I have no idea what the purpose of the therapist is, and I doubt I would be ever mentioned at any meeting, but there’s still a part of me that is curious. Have you ever wondered that? Do you wonder if people bring you up in other conversations with people who have no idea who you are? It doesn’t have to be a therapist- take this correspondence for instance. Do you think this man would ever wonder if I talk about him to a third party? Am I the only selfish, self-centered thinking person in the world who secretly (now not so secretly) wonders if they’ve ever been the topic of a session? Of a late night phone call? Of an emotional break down? Of a song? Of an unprovoked thought?

Maybe that just makes me a terrible person. Either way, I think I should try to limit my social outings for a while until I’ve figured out what this valley is really about.

Tell me you got the job.

-k