Four o’clock hunger

A basic law of human memory states that we tend to look at the past through rosy-coloured lenses, which is to say we tend to remember mostly the good parts of things that have happened to us or around us. Based on personal experience, I’d say that may or may not be the truth. A person’s general character and frame of mind will influence how he or she relates to the past. Those of us who are really intent on feeling miserable will focus on everything bad and maybe even use it as an excuse not to try any improvement in the present. Those who are sort of living in denial will claim it was all good and well and sometimes nostalgically revert to the past as a time of never-to-be-attained-again happiness, again, as an excuse for giving up trying… And then there are people who’ll think of the past as nothing more than a part of themselves, with both good and bad, that serves as an incentive to a better present…
This, however, is not what I was aiming to. I’ve been meaning to say that, when I look back to my college years, amongst the mixture of happy and sad and all-shades-of-grey moments (got to love English for the way it allows you to make up the words you need!), one of the feelings I most vividly remember was frustration. I actually remember conversations I was having with my Significant Other that ended up with him helplessly raising his arms in frustration and quoting… yep, that’s right, “Frustration is my middle name!”. At the time, I would try to work out solutions against such frustrations, as I perceived them as a bad thing. Frustration meant not being able to get what you wanted, and I wanted A LOT of things…
To this day, I still want A LOT of things. Growing up has not taught me to be happy with what I already have. If anything, it’s made me greedier and hungrier. But when I say “have” I hardly ever mean “possessing”. My hunger is such that it makes me want to constantly try new things, new variations, new nuances, new feelings, new everything. Nothing of that which is human is alien to me. I want a taste of everything, even if it turns out it’s something I don’t like. Maybe that means trying sea food or eating snakes, maybe it means sailing a boat, or learning a new language, or pushing the limits of my shyness, or confronting some inner demon or fear… it doesn’t really matter, as long as it presents itself as an opportunity for me to learn something about myself and to expand my horizons.
I guess it goes without saying that when you want THIS much, you’re prone to be disappointed and frustrated every now and then. In fact, statistically speaking, whenever you try something, you are 50% bound to fail. And failure does lead to frustration (well, that and a severe case of shattered ego, when it comes to me!). Certainly, there are risk-averse people who’d rather not try than fail, or those who make an attempt at anything only after ensuring that their chances of success outweigh the risk of failure. I’m not one of them, simply because my entire life philosophy is about acting, rather than thinking. Ok, make that pondering the consequences of my actions. Still, I’ve always landed on my feet so far. And the only baggage I’ve created was one of considerable frustration.
But this is where my growing-up process comes in. By becoming more mature, I have understood that frustration, just like failure, is not necessarily a bad thing. Or at least not in the general sense of “bad”. Frustration comes in a variety of shades and, as counter-intuitive as it may seem, it’s not even grey. It runs through all the colours of the rainbow and everything your mind can picture. Frustration, as a feeling, is as diverse as the experience that generated it. Being frustrated means you’ve tried. Tried and failed, granted, but have at least added a new experience to the story of your life. Which is the most beautiful story you will ever write. Might as well put your heart and soul in it.