I can definitely appreciate that my biggest problem right now is something as easy as not enjoying my job. I inhale a deep breath and take a moment to silently express my gratitude that I have a stable, well-paying job that I can afford to dislike.
But as soon as that moment is over, I think about how unhappy it really makes me.
This is not what I wanted to be doing with my life. When I realized after college just how hard it was to become an author, I accepted this job for the stable paycheck. But the plan was never to stay here for years. I should've used the first year to work through my writing process and get a few books ready to publish.
And yet somehow, after I failed so horribly at writing during that summer after graduation, I just couldn't get myself back into it. It was almost like I had scarred myself away from my own passion. I still read a lot and would jot down ideas in my journal, but I haven't given writing an honest shot in years.
Instead, I let myself remain stuck with writing blurbs about a technology I don't care about and will never use.
I wonder if Tristan is right. I wonder if the choice here is really between a life of definite regret from not going after what I want, and possible disappointment if I try and fail. Is it really that simple? Was I so scarred from my first try that I'll never attempt it again?
I'm so lost in my own thoughts that I don't realize Tristan is home until I hear him coming up the stairs. His phone rings just as he gets to the hallway. I don't think he knows I'm here because he doesn't shut the door to his bedroom before he answers. I can hear him clear as day even through my own closed door.
"Hey, Mom. I was actually just about to call you… No, everything's fine, I just wanted to talk to you about something… Where are you with planning your birthday trip? Is everything officially scheduled?"
I hear Tristan start to pace the hallway. Even his steps sound agitated.
"Okay, so everything is set then. Fuck… Sorry, I didn't mean for that to slip out. I'm just asking because I got offered a really big fight that weekend and it would be huge for my career if I could take it. A win would definitely put me on the UFC's radar… No, of course I'm not saying I don't care about your 50th birthday. I love you, and I would love to be there for you. I know how excited you are to get the whole family together for a weekend. But this is a really huge opportunity and—Mom, please stop crying. Please don't cry…"
Tristan's angry steps cease, and I can only imagine the frustration that I'm sure is plastered all over his face. I know his relationship with his parents is rough when it comes to fighting so I can guess how difficult this call is for him. To find out that you have a great opportunity that might catapult you into your lifelong dream, and then have to turn it down because your Mom wants you at her birthday party, sounds painful and unfair.
I meant what I said to Tristan last night. I really think his Mom will come around at some point—she just needs to realize how important fighting is to him.
Apparently, today is not that day.
"If it means this much to you then of course I'll come for the weekend. I just want you to be happy… But Mom, I need you to try to understand how big this decision is. I know you and Dad don't understand why I fight but I need you to want to support me anyway. I love fighting and Mom, I'mreallyfucking good at it. As in, I’m telling you I’m going to be one of the best fighters in the world one day. Will you be proud of me then? When I have a belt strapped around my waist? Or will you always just be waiting for me to grow out of my silly little karate phase?"
I feel my own heart breaking just listening to this.
"Fine, Mom, I don't want to talk about it now, either. We'll talk another time… Yeah, I'll be there for your birthday weekend… I promise… I love you too… Bye, Mom."
I’m still frozen in place when I hear Tristan's huff of frustration as he enters his room. I can't tell what he's doing in there, but I hear him aggressively moving things around.
I try to wait for him to go back downstairs or at least shut his door, but after a few minutes I decide it's ridiculous for me to walk on eggshells around him. Plus, I really need to get some water.
As softly as I can, I open the door and start to tiptoe down the hall.I guess I was lying to myself about the eggshells.
But it doesn't matter how quietly I walk because Tristan picks that moment to step out of his room.
He freezes when he sees me. I can tell by the way he looks at me that he realizes I heard every word of his conversation. And although he opened up to me about his Mom last night, I get the feeling that he wouldn't have wanted to share what just happened with anyone. I wince guiltily.
"I'll get out of your way," I blurt awkwardly. "I was just going to get some water."
I go to step past him but, per usual, he blocks my path. Except this time there's nothing teasing in his expression. No jokes tumbling from his lips, no smirks, no sleazy innuendos. He just looks deflated.
"You're never in the way," he says gruffly. His eyes bore into mine, clearly studying me for something. I shuffle my feet awkwardly.
"OK, well I'm going—" I start but he cuts me off.
"What would you do if you were me?" he asks suddenly. “What would you do if you had to pick between your dream and your family?”
My eyes widen in shock. Not just because I’m surprised he’s letting me into a side of his life that I know he prefers to keep a secret, but because he’s asking for my opinion, too. This conversation with his mom is clearly weighing heavily on him if he’s desperate enough to talk to someone about it. He rarely even opens up to Jax about it.
I feel a pang of deep sadness for him.
I hesitate, knowing he's not going to like my answer. "I would give up everything for my sister," I answer softly. "Not just because she's my best friend, but because family—whether by blood or by choice—is the foundation of everything. Without them we have nothing." I cock my head as I study him, trying to figure out how I can say what I want to without seeming like I'm trying to push him in one direction or the other. "There will always be another dream, or at least another opportunity for the dream. Nothing is the end of the world but the end of the world. We're always changing, always re-prioritizing things in our lives. Something we didn't give a shit about last week might be important to us this week."
Something blazes in his eyes when I say that. I don’t quite understand it, and he doesn’t say anything out loud, but I can see his mind spinning a million miles a minute right now.