Conflict Of Interests

Today is attic-cleaning day. A dreaded, terrible day. You’d think by thirty-five a more serious, logical fear might have developed to top this one. But, no. As I stood in the middle of the cluttered space, panic gripped me. Everything in me told me to run, to get out, to shut the door and mentally block myself from the space inside.

But, it had to be done. My husband insisted. He even offered to do it himself, but that option produced such a physical reaction that I almost threw up when he mentioned it. The sweet man didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—that this task was mine alone.

The cobwebs, musty air, and exposed fiberglass didn’t bother me, nor the evidence of a small creature’s nest in the corner. Rather, it was the piles around me that caused my legs to shake and eyes fill with tears.

Filling the entire room, stacked in large heaps, lay endless mountains of abandoned interests. Half-finished art projects, textbooks on obscure topics, tools for wood-working and gardening and shoe-cobbling. Thin, barely navigable, paths snaking through the large islands of forgotten hobbies.

At one point or the other, each of these items had sparked incredible curiosity and passion in me, to a point where I drove myself mad in pursuing mastery or understanding of them. Even now, I could feel the pull towards my current obsession, the neat set of calligraphy pens and thick-papered notebook I had already half-filled with beautiful script.

But these, evidence of the dying of each of those passions…I could barely look at them. A half‑painted ceramic hedgehog stared up at me from the ground, where it took shelter in most-of-a-quilt draped over a small keyboard tilted sideways. The little hedgehog’s pale blue eyes implored, how could you forget me? I let out a little sob and scooped him up from the floor, cradling him gently.

This was impossible. Absolutely impossible. What was I supposed to do with all of it? Throw it away? Even in my own panic I heard my husband’s patient voice: we’ll take them to charity, love. They’ll find new and happy homes with people who need them in their lives.

I breathed deeply. He asked me to do this. I could do it for him.

I looked over the mess, remembering the time in my life where each of these possessions had been central to my identity, royalty in a court of jesters. Right now, calligraphy wore the crown of reigning monarch. Tomorrow another might take its place.

I pictured a battlefield: different versions of myself warred, one dressed as a scientist, cracking a sword down on the shield of a bohemian artist while a muscular track star sprinted towards them. Scores of others fought in small skirmishes around them, a conflict of my own interests where the only prize was my lasting attention. Unobtainable.

Lost in the vision, I nearly caused a dangerous avalanche as I whirled when someone touched my shoulder. Teddy looked at me, eyes soft behind round glasses. “Babe,” his voice was quiet, his touch light.

My vision blurred as tears filled my eyes. “I just can’t do it! I can’t accept that I’ve failed and given up on everything!” I blurted, burying my head in his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and the hedgehog I still held, rocking slightly side to side.

His chest moved as he let out a small chuckle. I pushed back from him, offended he would find my pain amusing. “What’s so funny?” I demanded, acid leaching into my tone.

He smiled his most charming smile and asked, “Is that really what you think? That you failed?” I looked down at my feet, my guilt overwhelming. “My love, these are not failures. You learn so much any time you take up something new. There’s nothing wrong with not becoming a professional painter when all you really want to do is dabble for a short time. There’s not a problem with only memorizing half a poem, or writing half a book.”

I looked up at him, his words a sudden cooling balm to the burning of shame I felt. “In fact, I rather prefer you as you are, with the endlessly varying and occasionally startling interests and hobbies. We just need more attic space, it’s as simple as that.”

I nodded slowly, one more issue looming in my mind. “But I’m never consistent, never stick with anything. Isn’t that a problem?”

Teddy reached out and gently took the ceramic hedgehog from me. “You’ve stuck with me, haven’t you?”

A small smile grew as I beheld him, one of my true passions in this life, the steady beat of my distracted heart. “Yes, I’ve stuck with you.”

“Then we can figure out the rest. Grab some paint, let’s start out by finishing up Mr. Hedgehog’s outfit. Then we’ll grab a bottle of wine and tackle this together.”

Calmness settled over me. We’ll tackle this together. Me and Teddy, the one true victor in the never ending conflict of my interests.