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The War Within

Our decisions make us. We become who we are because of the decisions we make. They are mirrors of our persona. In truth, they become determinants of our destinies and futures.

We cannot escape them. We cannot do without them. Many times, we try to avoid them for more often than not, they exact a toll of pain and discomfort we could very well do without. But doing so, as we have by now learned, brings about consequences that make things worse. A decision not made is often regretted. A decision delayed becomes more painful in the making.

It is here that we realize the inevitability of decisions in life – along with the internal conflict that each decision brings. It is also here that we come to know fighting with one’s self in arriving at a decision helps us discover who we really are, helps us understand better the persons we are.

When faced with that “fork in the road” when a choice must be made, our minds and hearts go to work – which path is better, the one well taken, perhaps easier, or the one less taken, more uncertain and perhaps riskier. The quality of “better” as far as decisions are concerned is really subjective. What one perceives as “better” defines his uniqueness, his difference from others.

This inner struggle and the long road to a decision that must be made is what the hurting, wistful, and self-searching man in the poem Tonight I can write the saddest lines by Pablo Neruda faces.

And what a decision it is. For it involves the most salient of all human emotions – love, or in this case, the loss of it. He honors his lost love by grieving over it. But his grief threatens to shackle him to the past, to keep him chained to the martyrdom of a tragic lover forever pining for something that is lost and gone. The choices are there: to let go and move on, or to stay in that dark corner of loneliness, choosing “loyalty” to the haunting images and memories of what once was.

For one removed from the emotional entanglement of any decision, it is easy to make the rational choice. But for one caught in it, the experience of deciding is torment and agony itself.

What makes a decision so difficult? The dilemmas may all boil down to these: the perception that available solutions are almost of equal value or desirability, the tension of opposites personified by the never-ending tug of war between the mind and the heart, or a collision of interests, that of the person and that of affected others.

There was a point in my life where I too was faced with such decision. It is not just about thinking ahead and then go with which ever path favors you. It is never as easy, because what is easier may not really be the course your heart would be willing to take. The choices were either I would move on and have a better life or lament on a dying relationship. The clear choice was moving on, contrary to what people encouraged me to do, I stood still and watch myself be devoured by destruction. I felt satisfaction in the pain that I was in, for I know to myself that I was not ready.

“I loved her and sometimes she loved me too.” (6) The man was not such a fool. He did know that there was imbalance in the relationship, that he deserved more than what he was getting – being loved when the woman perhaps only felt like it. Yet, he gave back love that was consistent and unconditional. Did he love himself less by loving her more? Was he torn between the classic decision horns of want versus need? He needed to love himself more but wanted to have her, despite the punishing relationship she brought along. How many decisions have been rendered full of anguish by the pulls of want and need? The failure to distinguish one from the other has left many caught in a constant state of craving and disappointment. Was his ego at play here, to prop up his identity and manhood at the expense of self-respect? Only he can accurately describe or perhaps justify his willingness to accept the way things were. And perhaps tell us now whether he is able to see the line between want and need.

Reason versus emotion, the heart versus the head, the eternal human battle fought day in and day out – the stuff of life itself. The man who says he can write the saddest lines is not spared this at all. Rather, he is thrust into the very core of this controversy.

“My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her” (30) – almost a classic human cry of lost love through the ages. It still resounds today. The man knows that it is over. Reason tells him that while he is allowed to lick his wounds, he should move on and let time start the healing process of forgetting. But while reason prods him, his emotions hold him fast. He clings on, to memories and old longings. Emotions anchor him down and he knows this, stating his continuing love for the vanished one. The very fact that sadness rules him, that he can write the saddest lines, betrays his choice.

Dale Carnegie, that renowned author, would have told him – Know the facts, make a decision, act on it. Dale would have told him that while he indulged his heart, it was time for the head to come in and restore the balance of things. Knowing the facts implies a function of the head for the heart can easily overrule facts. But even Dale would have known that when it comes to decisions involving love, his three-stage saying would be up against formidable opposition. For love dwells in the territory of the heart itself and the head is but an intruder. Which is why the cliché “go with your heart” usually wins out in the end. It is also usually the more popular choice for everyone sympathizes with the one who goes where the heart leads, and usually castigates the one who uses the head as a cold, heartless fish unworthy of love at all.

But it is not in love alone where the struggle between the heart and the mind takes place. Rather, it occurs practically everywhere in life. In the end, the defining factor is which one the person chooses. For one seeking to know himself or herself more, finding out which is valued and followed more – the head or the heart – reveals volumes.

A collision of interests also muddles up the decision process for many. Personal interest versus the common welfare, in other words. “I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her” (27). A study in contradiction, how can the words “certain” and “maybe” coexist in a common context? When they manifest themselves in this manner, they show an agony of confusion. For our lover in the poem, his choice of the heart is becoming clearer with each line. It is in his interest to dwell on his pain, to extend the mourning over his loss, even deify or exalt his lost love. Common interest on the other hand tells him that he should move on. Moving on will improve strained relationships with others uneasy and unsure of how to relate to a man mooning over lost love. And moving on becomes a practical choice not only because it will redound to the good of others but because in the end, it does him good too.

Many decisions are made because the impact and effect on others important to the person are considered. The issue of the man and his relationship with others is unclear in the poem since his struggle takes place in the setting of solitude. But transposing him to practical and normal life would necessarily bring others out of the shadows and tells us that a person can know more of himself or herself from interaction with others who provide him mirrors to his true self.

Whatever choices are made, whatever decisions are adopted, whether the heart or the head wins, in the end, there is always some degree of clarity that emerges, clarity in the matter of a person’s values and clarity in some facet of the personality.

And it is also clear that a person has to throw himself into the struggle of decisions to find out the answers to questions important to him. It is by doubting one’s self, seeing and accepting one’s limitations, and knowing what can and cannot be changed that one grows and understands himself better.

This is something the man in the poem has yet to discover. His romanticism rules him for the moment and perhaps when the veils of emotion lift, he may come to see with greater clarity all that has been clouded by the heavy mists of memories and unrewarded longings.