Belief in what we know

Belief

I shall locate Laura; it should be quite easy. Except it wasn’t. What I uncover was not just a girl that I had become absorbed by, but a flaw in the way humans think. I had mentioned to Laura the problems some get by the time they reach their thirties from overdoing it. She shrugged her shoulders and indicated that she was already about that age. I took a close look. I could now see that she could well be a lot older than my first casual appraisal suggested. Not twenty-five or so. I hadn’t paid any attention to her age before. However, I put this number at the heart of the search for Laura.

I only have tiny bits of information. A surname would help as does knowing someone’s approximate age. An index of people showed two people called Laura. One is a little shy of thirty, twenty-eight the other was far too old. I am convinced this younger one is the one I am looking for. I believe this firmly. The shoulder shrug must have meant she was close to thirty. I find nothing much on this twenty-eight-year-old, but I find plenty of things about the older one. There must be a picture somewhere that could prove this older one was not her. The address is within the vicinity I expect, but the occupier is too old. Maybe the data on the index had not been updated and it refers to the person who lived in the house prior. That would be fine except that it would be a stretch for her to afford such a place having not that long left university. I found something a Laura had scribed as a sub ten-year-old. This confirmed that it was a different Laura. I realise later that I should have read it properly not just skim read it. From a causal look it ended up being an elongated case that would stump a cold case detective. I got past the point of caring about seeing Laura again. It was turning into nothing other than a puzzle to be solved. Deep curiosity. Piecing clues together and having faith that I will succeed eventually.

It is hard to let go of a belief, even when presented with good indications that it might be wrong. There will be lots of links that connect to that belief. The links are valid. They are comprised of correct information. It is what they are connected to that is wrong. I seriously considered an unlikely coincidence; there were two Laura’s with the same surname that went to dances in the area. The truth hit hard. The age is not a big thing as such, but it alters a lot. It is a shock. How could I have been so wrong? There is a realm in which age will matter. Pass a point and the fire in that desire is unavoidably converted into a singed charred edifice of regret. This is not my fault but undershooting on the age estimation makes me inadvertently clumsy in my behaviour

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It can take us a long time to reconcile disturbances to our central beliefs. I have framed the entire thing around someone’s age. That is the central node. It underpins everything else. Take that pivotal node away and it is profoundly unsettling. We build a large sandcastle upon a single piece of information. When that fundamental piece of information is shown to be wrong the whole thing comes crashing down, but the remnants of the castle is still there. We may prefer to keep it all in place by substituting the wrong core belief with another belief instead, an absurd belief. That way we don’t have to rearrange thousands of links in our mind. I had to go see her to truly believe it. We need to see things first-hand. We need to go to the scene of the crime. We need a visit to the devastated area to comprehend the effects of an earthquake or volcano. I got to see her without any makeup. Now I was able to re-gauge the number of years she has spent on earth and allow it to sink in. Despite that it will be a long time before it truly registers. I can still find myself thinking of her as a younger person.

As the mist descends enveloping my field, I turn my gaze upon myself. The misty scene has an eerie tone, adorable, delightful, and prescient. It is far from a daily occurrence around here. Misty scenes redrew the environment creating a memorable haven for the young Laura, at ease and insulated from the world beyond. Does the infrequency of the mist correlate with the infrequency of looking at things from Laura’s point of view? I have hit a small white ball into dense fog. Walked some distance for it to reveal itself. It would never have been seen again if it were hooked or sliced. I gave her chocolates despite having the resource indicating she loved flowers. I have said myself, do onto others the way they want to be done to. Here I failed to do a little thing well. When do I stop foraging in the undergrowth to clasp that white pearl in this game of life?

I ponder what time spent with Laura would be like. Would it pan out as I imagine? What about the long game? Some have managed to foster a relationship years after an initial encounter. These are rare cases. Hoping for success in the more distant future has ramifications. It hinders finding someone else. The struggle is real. So much investment with no payoff. Jaded. Disillusionment. The devils of dating. Only prep for the next encounter if we can keep the faith. And faith we must keep for it will come if one keeps trying. Excuses are made when we fail to get a partner. The one-handed shuffle releases the tension. You may even have a go at taking things close to climax, holding off then repeat. Whatever the case, those that push through, endure, and refuse to capitulate, have a much more enriched life. With someone.

Have you ever noticed a phenomenon whereby hustlers fall lucky? Serendipity, chance, fortuitousness, one thing leads on to another thing, a more profitable thing. The hustler was in pursuit of something then stumbled on something else that was unexpected, unplanned. Had they not been active in one area that something else would not have fell into their lap. A trader importing goods circumventing laws and custom duties was introduced to drug trafficking. Given his reputation he was chosen to work with the drug growers. Luck favours the brave I suppose. Whilst this phenomenon is witnessed frequently by tricksters, criminals, and evil doers it occurred in this harrying of Laura.

Laura reinvigorated my zest to dance. She gave me the impetus to address the equality issue in dancing, namely men predominantly leading women. The more I pushed this course the more I discovered. At first, I thought it was just sexist towards women. However, men are at a huge disadvantage in the early stages of learning to dance. They need to learn a lot of moves before they can ask someone to dance. The women can be led a full song on their first night. Men will need ten to twenty lessons. With lead sharing the men can lead what they know then let a proficient woman lead the rest. The women can learn the lead a little at a time. They can do it gradually at their own pace, adding more moves each session.

Dance is expanded greatly when we embrace both the lead and follow role. As for snatching, stealing the lead, words can’t convey the potential fun that can be. On the odd occasion when a dance was a little flat, I would hand the lead over early and let them make something better of it. It expands dancing for all. I created Laura’s move. It is a move that hands over the lead from me to her. This was the start of the journey. This move is the only thing one needs as a dancer to start lead sharing. It can have an aspirational quality - seduction and smoothness shy of raunchy.

I have always consciously made an effort to dance with all. Young and old. Some dancers do tune into one another rather well. This can be their explanation for why they dance together more frequently. With Laura I pretended that it was just her dancing potential that gave me licence to select her to collaborate with. Whilst it did lead to the thought of lead sharing, I have not had the inclination to make a move up for anyone else. I reformed and formulated Megan’s move.

I am always on the backfoot. Messing up each attempt to fix the last thing I messed up. In another life I will try and not repeat these mistakes. I have a habit of giving thanks by means of small gifts to those that show me consideration. I know that one can never buy friendships. I prefer giving when it is least expected and always well after the event. Laura gave me back a hat before, now was just as keen to return something that had a good bit more monetary value. Oh, those strained exchanges. An underlying desire to avoid being outright rude but indicative of wanting thee to go. She dropped a cutting micro revelation. I have been excluded. I am accustomed to these strikes. I am not wishing to become numb to the pain but see it as an experience for me to take in, observe and see what happens in my body. Any sadness is fleeting and controllable. The wish to return the thank you gift signalled that that she wanted to wash her hands of me.

Laura will wane. We are the fruit from the flower from the tree. Everyone’s surface appeal ebbs away. We sure see the slow-motion shift. Softening steadily then wrinkling. Ever more so week by week, year by year. Some iron out wrinkles in the mind and others become more obtuse. Laura doesn’t seem to be waning quite yet. Quite the opposite as each time I gaze in her direction I am more fond of what I see.