• unable to see or be seen clearly.
• not clear or distinct; hazy
I LOVE living life on the edge. I bore very easily. As a woman who has been deemed a ‘ride or die’ by both friends and mates; my exasperation with the mundane does not appear to impinge on my relationships. No, I’m not a skydiver nor have I ever gone bungee jumping. I’ve never walked on coals or laid on a nude beach (and trust me I’ve spared many an eye in not doing so). I’ve never taken shots back to back with crowds cheering me on and then commenced to river-dancing on a table; but I love living life on the edge. The edge is as relative as it is alluring. I love it and am quite roused by those who seek to do so.
As a result of my attraction to life on the edge, I’ve occasionally experienced the self inflicted repercussions of blurred lines. Some of which hurt so good. Others that fell in the category of “If this is wrong, I don’t wanna be right”. Ignoring consequences that I, quite frankly at the time, thought I was tough enough to handle. Moments where I saw the yellow stop light up ahead but passionately closed my eyes and gunned it; foot heavy on the gas hoping I’d slip by just before it turned red.
According to Robin Thicke when defining the lyrical intent of his popular yet controversial hit song Blurred Lines; its referring to “the good-girl/bad-girl thing and what’s appropriate.” Well let’s see…
If we’re honest; in some settings blurred lines can be fun. Moments we find exhilarating when pushed outside of our comfort zones at just the right tempo and tension resulting in increased heart rate and mildly noticeable panting. Finding ourselves hyperventilating an iota shy of a panic attack. Relishing in an adrenaline rush while still clinging to the notion that we are in control. Blurred lines masquerading as one living on the edge.
But what do blurred lines really look like?
I’m frequently inconvenienced and infuriated when driving on the highway and I encounter blurred lines. Due to NEVER ENDING construction and God knows whatever kind of foolishness causing the gradual erosion of these lines, it is not unusual to see this on any given stretch of road. It is by far the MOST frustrating AND dangerous thing to drive 60-70 mph in one of three closely aligned lanes and then the boundaries in place suddenly fade to black when approaching a curve. And to think, these pics were taken yesterday, during the day. Can you imagine how alarmingly treacherous this is in traffic and/or at night?!
One night I was driving home on a dimly lit stretch of highway where 3 out of the 4 lanes on the road were pitch black. Plagued by impaired night vision, I was sandwiched between two 18 wheelers for about 2 miles. I was very frightened but praying through gritted teeth because I was SO MAD at the absence of parameters designed to guide me, now failing to protect me. Then it made we wonder. What do our blurred lines look like in the spirit realm? When we take baby steps from feather light teasing to full throttle? When we dance on the edge so hard that the lines beneath the weight of our want are gradually smeared to smithereens. Overlapping. Disappearing.
It may take a few weeks if not longer but those same blurred lines on the highway eventually get repainted.
However how does one proceed after barriers have been thwarted. Either trauma presents itself or an insatiable appetite to do it all over again arises. When demarcation once again becomes prominent. Order restored. Anarchy shunned. Regular resumes. Predictability ensues. How does one journey now that the probability of reoccurrence is clearly…inescapable.
How do you?
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Photo Credit: iTunes & Ericka Arthur