On Timing
by Emily Reed
"The right thing at the wrong time is the wrong thing" is an old saying that used to confuse me to
no end. To me, the expression sounded like a rotten mess of double negatives that were tangled
together tighter than headphone cords. In the practical sense, I didn't understand the concept of
letting a cookie cool before eating it.
I eventually realized that there was a way to avoid burning my mouth. This revelation came to
me after a brief stint in the nuthouse. The bleak, monotonous nature of life was only improved by
the comical names we gave our doctors, nurses, and most importantly, the establishment. We
called it the nuthouse because we'd much rather be labeled almonds and pistachios than
schizophrenics and depressed.
After leaving such a place, it's impossible to return to your civilian life unscathed. The heavy
burdens that you carried in are still with you and are made heavier by the new shackles added to your
feet. A stint in the mental hospital will always be on your medical record and your mind.
Yet, I was quickly forced to bottle up my experiences, tightly seal the cap, and place the bottle
on the top shelf where no one would ever see. I went back to school and fell into a steady
rhythm, until it was interrupted by a certain mousy haired botanist.
The circumstances of how we met aren't important, but, what you need to know is that on the
first night we met, we talked on the phone all night. We eagerly conversed about our joint
interests in The Beatles, classic movies, and the importance of recognizing Leprechaun's Day as
a national holiday. While we had a lot in common, we had our differences. For example, his main hobby
was botany whereas mine was enjoy creative writing.
Listening to someone drone on for hours about how to plant the perfect apple tree wasn't my idea
of a fun time. Yet, in that moment, apple trees were incredibly interesting because he was talking
about them. He showed the same interest in my hobbies and we shared one blissful night
together where we forgot about the consequences of spending over eight hours with each other.
Spending that much time together so early in a relationship forms a strong bond. However,
forming a bond with someone was just what I was afraid of.
As an only child, I've always been a lone wolf. All of my friendships were shallow and no one
was allowed to get too close. With my added baggage as of late, it was important that people
kept their distance unless they wanted to be weighed down.
Unfortunately, we didn't stay away from each other. We spent the next two days together and even
participated in the terribly clichè activity of watching the sunrise together. Though we shared lots
of laughs and conversations, each day wasn't as good as the first because there was an elephant in
the room that only I knew about.
I wasn't blind. I knew that down the road, he wanted something more than a friendship and I
didn't feel comfortable leading him on. At that stage in my life, I hadn't sorted through my own
problems and I needed to get that taken care of first before I let people into my world.
The next day, I decided that my only option was to let him go. In that moment, we let our
special connection dissolve into the cavernous depths of the lake where we watched the sun rise
only a day prior. I reasoned that if I didn't cut our relationship clean off,
then it would stick around like a stubborn hangnail.
He tried to be "macho" and handle my rejection with casual indifference. I knew him well
enough to see behind the facade and notice his confusion mixed with a dash of
hurt feelings. He didn't ask me why I decided we couldn't be friends anymore and
I didn't make any effort to tell him my reasons. In some ways, his reaction made me wish I hadn't met him at all.
He was the perfect hail Mary pass that I wasn't ready to catch. And in some ways, not being able to catch
the ball is worse than never picking up a football.
Now that I've matured and sorted out my attachment issues, I'm ready to come off the bench.
This time I'll be running down the field, ready to go long to catch the pass that I wasn't able to
run in for a touchdown before.
no end. To me, the expression sounded like a rotten mess of double negatives that were tangled
together tighter than headphone cords. In the practical sense, I didn't understand the concept of
letting a cookie cool before eating it.
I eventually realized that there was a way to avoid burning my mouth. This revelation came to
me after a brief stint in the nuthouse. The bleak, monotonous nature of life was only improved by
the comical names we gave our doctors, nurses, and most importantly, the establishment. We
called it the nuthouse because we'd much rather be labeled almonds and pistachios than
schizophrenics and depressed.
After leaving such a place, it's impossible to return to your civilian life unscathed. The heavy
burdens that you carried in are still with you and are made heavier by the new shackles added to your
feet. A stint in the mental hospital will always be on your medical record and your mind.
Yet, I was quickly forced to bottle up my experiences, tightly seal the cap, and place the bottle
on the top shelf where no one would ever see. I went back to school and fell into a steady
rhythm, until it was interrupted by a certain mousy haired botanist.
The circumstances of how we met aren't important, but, what you need to know is that on the
first night we met, we talked on the phone all night. We eagerly conversed about our joint
interests in The Beatles, classic movies, and the importance of recognizing Leprechaun's Day as
a national holiday. While we had a lot in common, we had our differences. For example, his main hobby
was botany whereas mine was enjoy creative writing.
Listening to someone drone on for hours about how to plant the perfect apple tree wasn't my idea
of a fun time. Yet, in that moment, apple trees were incredibly interesting because he was talking
about them. He showed the same interest in my hobbies and we shared one blissful night
together where we forgot about the consequences of spending over eight hours with each other.
Spending that much time together so early in a relationship forms a strong bond. However,
forming a bond with someone was just what I was afraid of.
As an only child, I've always been a lone wolf. All of my friendships were shallow and no one
was allowed to get too close. With my added baggage as of late, it was important that people
kept their distance unless they wanted to be weighed down.
Unfortunately, we didn't stay away from each other. We spent the next two days together and even
participated in the terribly clichè activity of watching the sunrise together. Though we shared lots
of laughs and conversations, each day wasn't as good as the first because there was an elephant in
the room that only I knew about.
I wasn't blind. I knew that down the road, he wanted something more than a friendship and I
didn't feel comfortable leading him on. At that stage in my life, I hadn't sorted through my own
problems and I needed to get that taken care of first before I let people into my world.
The next day, I decided that my only option was to let him go. In that moment, we let our
special connection dissolve into the cavernous depths of the lake where we watched the sun rise
only a day prior. I reasoned that if I didn't cut our relationship clean off,
then it would stick around like a stubborn hangnail.
He tried to be "macho" and handle my rejection with casual indifference. I knew him well
enough to see behind the facade and notice his confusion mixed with a dash of
hurt feelings. He didn't ask me why I decided we couldn't be friends anymore and
I didn't make any effort to tell him my reasons. In some ways, his reaction made me wish I hadn't met him at all.
He was the perfect hail Mary pass that I wasn't ready to catch. And in some ways, not being able to catch
the ball is worse than never picking up a football.
Now that I've matured and sorted out my attachment issues, I'm ready to come off the bench.
This time I'll be running down the field, ready to go long to catch the pass that I wasn't able to
run in for a touchdown before.