The Story of Totter and Plop

I don’t claim to remember the memory, but I can safely assume that a little over two and a half decades back, I took my first steps. I must have let go of that convenient and secure piece of furniture that allowed me to stagger to my unsteady feet, and then I must have tottered through my first dangerously unstable steps. In all probability, I then proceeded to plop down on my behind. I guess in baby-talk terms, I must have even spent a few moments wondering what possessed me to try something so ridiculously dangerous! But then I guess the totter was exhilarating and the plop wasn’t too painful.

This is pure speculation based on nothing more concrete than my current walking ability.

Going on with this conjecture, a few hours or perhaps a day or two later, I must have tried the totter-step again. Totter, plop, totter, plop. With time, I am brave enough to assume, I tottered more and plopped less. Somewhere down the line, I learnt to walk. Grace came into the picture, and though I still plop once in a while, I don’t totter much.

This has been a recurrent pattern in life. Totters and plops. And I am not talking just about walking here! Time and again, I have been persistent enough to take enough plops and continue tottering through the awkward and difficult phases of life till I discovered the beauty and grace beyond. However, at times one plops too hard. And it hurts. Pain inevitably leads to fear. And with fear comes the hesitancy to totter. And with the hesitancy comes the increased risk of plopping. Replay loop ad infinitum, ad nauseam.

I mentioned the term ‘recurrent pattern’. That’s a treacherous thingamajig if you ask me. It’s subjective, and your fear makes you see patterns where none might lay. And giddy optimism might cause you to turn blind to these recurring patterns screaming warnings at you. And what do these patterns say?

Here there be plops!

When is the last time you fell? And I am not talking about the banana peel incident that you have been trying so hard to put behind you.

When is the last time something really mattered to you and you couldn’t get there, in spite of putting in all you had? When is the last time you plopped so bad that you thought you would never dare totter again? When is the last time you wanted to live like never before, and then could barely stay alive through the crashing realization that what you wanted was not to be yours… and would never be.

I read this statistic recently that claimed that 90% of accidents happen in the 10% of the path that lies at the beginning or the end of the journey. Makes sense, doesn’t it? We do tend to fall a lot right at the beginning or the end of a quest. Let’s talk about the end. Right when we’re nearing what we think is the end, when whatever it is that we have been pursuing peeks beguilingly out from behind that last barrier… WHAM! Sucker punch!

Recurrent patterns. When it comes to my life and the recurrent patterns therein, one particular aspect seems to be blessed with consistent doom. This doom is highlighted all the more by the sheer contrast of the splendor with which all other aspects seem to breeze through. But then, hope rears its scarred and bandaged head. Give me one more chance, it croaks. Damned pest! Hadn’t it succumbed to the sheer annihilation of the last big plop! Apparently, it hasn’t.

There is beauty, and there is hope. There is life, and there is the desire to live. There is that last mile of tottering, and there is the threat of the last, big plop; the plop to end all totters.

Well, all that matters is the vision beyond the barrier, the promise of a better life to come, of dreams to be realized. And like a cheerfully drunk kamikaze, I shall plunge... like the sake drunk samurai, I shall totter through the ritual steps of Harakiri, closer and closer to that tantalizing mirage of perfection...

I just hope like hell that I don’t plop!

Cogito Ergo Finito