[Because I cannot come up with topics of my own, I’ve again decided to write on Iscriblr’s topic: Commitment]
I have a problem with commitment… and, like a dining room chair with the bottom cut out, my problem is deep-seated and dangerous. Even as a toddler, I didn’t want to get attached to my siblings… mostly because they might ask me to help them move; but, also because I might ask THEM to help ME move… then, they’d feel justified asking me to help them move. I couldn’t commit to a religion, philosophy or idea. It was only reluctantly that I would commit to a notion. I blame my mother who also had issues with commitment: After marriage, she decided to hyphenate her name but would only add one letter a month. She wasn’t the only one. My father’s wedding ring had a quick-release mechanism, just in case.
It didn’t get better as I got older. In college, I couldn’t commit to a major, so my degree had no major field of study… but I minored in eleven subjects. I couldn’t commit to just one company, so I became a contractor… but I couldn’t commit to any contracting firm, so I did nothing and waited for death. Ironically, that is when my family had me committed.
Since then, I’ve gotten a little better… I met a sweet girl who consented to not only marry me, but allowed me to use an alias for the first three years of our marriage. My family will love her when they finally meet her, which will be at my death bed…