COMMITMENT.

I've come to regard my old high school experience as equivalent to the task of laundry. I never wanted to do it and it took a lot until it got done, in laundry’s case, a couple of overflowing wicker hampers, in high school’s, a couple of truancy notifications posted on my front door. 

It’s now, as an adult, that I realise the involvement required. School, for me, was a process of yearly vows to attend every day, then pledges to go at least three times a week to a final promise I would at least study for the finals. I did study, and despite the closing, three necessary credits being fearfully complacent leading up to graduation, I did well, with the grades and with eventually sticking true to that final allegiance. 

You see, high school presented me with the terrible realisation usually resided for the pre-fight scene in the New York set, romantic comedy when, shock, she has, wait for it, commitment issues. With a city of endless opportunities on her (literal) doorstep how could she possibly carve up enough time for the guy she’s obviously and inevitably going to marry once he fights off her wild disclaimers? 

I don't have a six foot tall, flower wielding, doe-eyed guy pacing up my path and I surely don't have one boosting some kind of music playing system onto his shoulder outside my window. I do, though, have a selection of foregone opportunities, memberships, other menial tasks which require a long-term bind, and for what? Nothing but a succumbing, mercy filled scrape at redeeming a spontaneity quality.  

Those kids that showed up each day to sit in an old science lab turned history class, they're who I envy in life. No amount of continued note taking of Elizabethan settlement deterred their entry. They're the ones who'll ease into new opportunities, know where they want to dine upon making plans, find a wedding gown after one consultation, and definitively decide on what they want to do and when they want to do it for life. A sense of fear for the future isn't present in them, they are their future. 

Call it commitment, or call it a general sense of doing what they're meant to, whichever way it’s spun, I realised I don't possess it. I can't commit to two shots or four shots in my take away, morning coffee and there’s no way I'm committing to having clean socks when I need them. 

Is it a flaw, or is it a quality that I should utilise? I crave change, two months in a certain circumstance, one month too long. A lifelong dream which can only be described as committed leaves me worrying, worrying so much I can't commit to change my efforts.