If I had known my mother was right about the transitory, fickle nature of adolescent friendship, I might not have invested so much. In fact, this truth still applies. It’s this slow-motion dissolution of a connection between two people, at different moments striving, trying desperately to remain relevant to one another. Romance/love is exactly the same, where at different times one partner is more in love with the other. And what remains is one of the few conduits to a close but different interpretation of a shared past that comes back – almost taunting, if not haunting – the lost friendship or love, the missed opportunities, forgotten depths and secrets. Where does all that initial – and sometimes even sustained, if temporary – awe go? How does it get buried underneath layers of time, superficial concern and change?
Writing this I feel very much as though I have already written something like this many times. Perhaps because these same feelings and questions churn mercilessly through the brain – and even the heart – too frequently.
It has been said many times before that if you have to refer to yourself as a guru, you aren’t one.
Why someone would adopt the term and self-appoint as a “guru”, I can’t really explain… but it’s a damn funny word when it pops up here and there. (Apparently one of my brother’s commanding officers wrote that my brother is a “fitness guru” in his performance review. That cracks me up. Mentioning “commanding officer” reminds me of Jacques Prévert – “Quartier libre“. You know: “Ah good/excuse me I thought one saluted/said the commanding officer/You are fully excused everybody makes mistakes/said the bird.”)