Idle Hopes
Posted: Thu Jun 13, 2019 3:00 pm
Theo sat pensively on the garden bench, staring idly at the flowers he had recently started growing. To an uninformed observer he would have appeared deeply engrossed in his horticultural activities, but in reality his focus lay on more personal concerns. Somewhat unexpectedly, the sense of emptiness he had felt since the end of prom had not dissipated with time. Instead it had grown and developed until it eventually rocked the very foundations of his worldview.
His writing, once his sole escape from the tedium of life, no longer calmed him. The rough drafts he had been writing infuriated him with their vapid descriptions and insipid "insights". Had he truly been so bold as to assume he understood anything at all? He liked to pretend that his words had metamorphosed before his very eyes, but he knew that he was lying to himself to avoid recognizing the bitter truth that his prose held no real value.
Gardening had lost its appeal: the actual process was still calming, but he increasingly felt as though his membership in the gardening club was nothing more than another deception, created to further enhance the fake image of himself he presented to his family. They had invested so much into what others considered a mere hobby, and he had profaned their work with his indifference.
He considered his fellow gardeners. First was Camilla, ever eager to help: he guiltily remembered her constant efforts to engage him, and his ungratefully stubborn to remain in his comfort zone. Then there was Declyn, effortlessly kind hearted and outgoing, yet at the same time deeply thoughtful. Drew, always ready to advise with knowledge freely dispensed, left him miserably aware of his lack of ability. Finally, there was Diego. He disliked thinking of Diego, for his shy awkwardness hinted at what Theo thought was a kindred spirit, but one with a far greater sense of enthusiasm that made him uncomfortably conscious of his own apathy. Assuming he had not forgotten anyone, that covered the sum total of his ... . He paused. Actually, what was the right word for their relationship?
They were not friends, obviously. Friends had mutually beneficial relationships based on honest respect for the other parties; he did not recall having actually done anything for them, other than showing up. Companions implied, falsely, that he was the center of the group. He settled on acquaintances. An unsatisfyingly vague word, maybe, but then everything about his social life was unsatisfyingly vague. He had let life pass him by in the vain hope that things would go well, and his passivity had bought him nothing.
His sadness lifted suddenly. If passivity was the problem, then perhaps the solution was simply to be more daring. A new course of action would be a good place to start. Perhaps his actions would be the key to his future happiness. Perhaps they would only underline the incredible foolishness of his self-centered plans. He could not be certain. And yet, in taking this risk he felt a greater hope than ever before. As his mother drove him towards the waiting buses, he felt an inexplicable optimism take root. Somehow, he was sure, this week would signal the beginning of an entirely new stage of his life.
His writing, once his sole escape from the tedium of life, no longer calmed him. The rough drafts he had been writing infuriated him with their vapid descriptions and insipid "insights". Had he truly been so bold as to assume he understood anything at all? He liked to pretend that his words had metamorphosed before his very eyes, but he knew that he was lying to himself to avoid recognizing the bitter truth that his prose held no real value.
Gardening had lost its appeal: the actual process was still calming, but he increasingly felt as though his membership in the gardening club was nothing more than another deception, created to further enhance the fake image of himself he presented to his family. They had invested so much into what others considered a mere hobby, and he had profaned their work with his indifference.
He considered his fellow gardeners. First was Camilla, ever eager to help: he guiltily remembered her constant efforts to engage him, and his ungratefully stubborn to remain in his comfort zone. Then there was Declyn, effortlessly kind hearted and outgoing, yet at the same time deeply thoughtful. Drew, always ready to advise with knowledge freely dispensed, left him miserably aware of his lack of ability. Finally, there was Diego. He disliked thinking of Diego, for his shy awkwardness hinted at what Theo thought was a kindred spirit, but one with a far greater sense of enthusiasm that made him uncomfortably conscious of his own apathy. Assuming he had not forgotten anyone, that covered the sum total of his ... . He paused. Actually, what was the right word for their relationship?
They were not friends, obviously. Friends had mutually beneficial relationships based on honest respect for the other parties; he did not recall having actually done anything for them, other than showing up. Companions implied, falsely, that he was the center of the group. He settled on acquaintances. An unsatisfyingly vague word, maybe, but then everything about his social life was unsatisfyingly vague. He had let life pass him by in the vain hope that things would go well, and his passivity had bought him nothing.
His sadness lifted suddenly. If passivity was the problem, then perhaps the solution was simply to be more daring. A new course of action would be a good place to start. Perhaps his actions would be the key to his future happiness. Perhaps they would only underline the incredible foolishness of his self-centered plans. He could not be certain. And yet, in taking this risk he felt a greater hope than ever before. As his mother drove him towards the waiting buses, he felt an inexplicable optimism take root. Somehow, he was sure, this week would signal the beginning of an entirely new stage of his life.