Falling into a diametrical opposite, into what is diametrically opposed to that out of which you’re trying to climb and separate from, not realizing the dialectical arrangement is itself the snare. Don’t mind the grammar here, it’s inessential.
This sort of opposition and the apparent extremity of the new, it occurred to me, seemed to have the enchanting effect of eliminating the gray areas and uncertainties associated with the act and effort of walking away. By being so different, so seemingly polarized, it helped make the choice clearer and affirmed a decision that should not—and indeed initially did not—have anything really to do with a particular alternative, but rather with nothing more than alternative itself.
What was wrong, what was disrupted—that was the problem, and the only course that mattered in those desperate times was the one on which that problem was thought to be no longer present. Getting away, change of scene, shift in circumstance, putting distance between self and center. But escape is a very particular mode of getting away. And oneself a very particular foe. So the result, of course, in this case—my case, his case, however you slice the perspective—was just another problem, itself bound for disruption, a problem that mirrored the first so exactly it was hard to see, with nothing but the positioning changing through the act of flight. Like climbing up a tree, or crawling down into a hole, hoping in the climbing or crawling to create the set of conditions believed necessary to achieve transcendence in the branches or clarity in the darkness at the bottom. Parallax, this has been called, because all that’s changed is the view.
How can a thinking, seeing, noticing person allow such a thing to happen? You think you’re back on track, you’ve got it right this time, only to find, once the dust settles, you’ve simply done it again. And you begin to wonder if, for some, there’s freedom, while, for others, determinism. Wherever we go, we bring ourselves along.