the.destroy.her.

Is Destruction good or evil?

I am a runner. Not in the athletic sense, but in the existential sense. I am a runner. I run because moving on comes very naturally. I am a runner. I haven’t learned to stand still yet…

 Not exactly a novel concept-this running away thing. Many people run from their problems, I am by no means claiming to have pioneered the concept. We all try to escape; whether it is through alcohol, drugs, sex or shopping.

Pick a vice and people have used it to escape the inevitable. Or more likely, to create a bigger problem that the one before, but one that is somehow still easier to deal with than facing ourselves. But here’s the thing: I don’t run away from my problems; well, at least not directly. I run away from other people’s problem with me. If I think I am a problem in someone else’s experience, I leave and never come back. I feel no ill will toward them, and I always wish them well. I have honestly and truly never hated anyone, and I don’t know how to hold a grudge. But I have left…many people…many times.

SOUND FAMILIAR?

Here are some varying accounts of the Destroyer Archetype, and how it might come in to play (or out to play) in your life…

The Destroyer Archetype:

PART 1:

“The impulse to destroy and rebuild is archetypal. We are bound to that cycle and therein lies the learning. Destruction also refers to releasing that which is destroying us, and, so, many therapists and other healers serve the role of the Destroyer by assisting others to release destructive emotions or behavior. The power of positive destruction is enormously healing and liberating.”- Caroline Myss

I am a Destroyer by nature, and breaking down to rebuild is all I know how to do. I don’t like imposing my ever-changing life on many people, so usually I will cocoon myself during the change and emerge a new butterfly to whomever is left to witness it. I think it is a natural process for many to withdraw during tough times.

I find that if there is no one left when I surface, I don’t ever fret. There is one thing I am certain of: Everything is temporary. I feel at home in that truth, and thinking about things not being in constant flux makes me feel like I am trying to breathe through wet cement.

PART 2:

"If you are going to live outside the law, you have to be honest, and have to cut your loses."

The Destroyer is not only active in the process of change, but also in my interactions with people. If I feel like I’m causing someone or some situation more harm than good, then I run from it. “Better off without me” is my mantra, and it is one that is sung in elation, rather than said with self-pity. The weird thing is, I am stubbornly unable to change for anyone, yet I am willing to let them go so that they don’t have to put up with me. I have no problem with people not liking me, but I have a huge problem with imposing myself on a person who can’t handle who I am. It’s not the dislike that is the issue; it’s the need to balance other people’s wellbeing with my seeming inability to change just to please someone, or fit in.

“The Destroyer turns us into villains when we refuse to acknowledge and take responsibility for the harm we do-and we all do harm of some kind…”

The list of my faults is long: I am disorganized, scattered, sometimes oblivious, mostly lost in my head, unmotivated my menial tasks, clumsily truthful when I know you well; and tactful to a fault when I don’t. I change my mind all the time, and I don’t follow instructions well unless I can see the bigger picture of their importance. I don’t like rules unless they are for someone’s protection, and I can’t do the same thing, the same way, twice. And the biggest fault I have is that I just don’t care, unless I care, and then I care too much.

What is on this list doesn’t matter. No one cares about another’s shortcomings unless they interfere with their own life. But that is my point exactly: How do you deal with your shortcomings when others don’t like them? I have always thought that I am doing more good than harm by leaving things/people/situations behind that I don’t feel I contribute to. But am I being a villain? It is easy; I know that. It is easier to destroy and rebuild than to work on what is there. But where is that line for us Destroyers? How do we embrace our affinity for creating space for rebirth, without simply running from our problems?

If you are looking for the answer, I guess I shouldn’t have waited until the end to tell you: I don’t have it…

sail.away.with.me.honey.

A part of me wants to go where the wind takes me; roll with the tide; set sail for new adventures, all that jazz. And another part of me wants to drop my anchor; build a village; hunker down. These two things require very different strategies. If life is an ocean (and I am very convinced that it is) then what kind of vessel am I? Certain vessels are built more for speed and agility, while others are built to slowly roam the seas, holding safe their stowaways through rough waters and new terrains.

I know some people that have always been large, strong vessels. I gravitate towards these people. They feel safe. They amble along slowly, letting neither rough seas nor long stretches of still water faze them. The urge step aboard and experience their warmth and safety is almost irresistible. But alas, these are always the people I leave behind. Soon, when my belly is filled and my clothes are dry, I am back gazing out at the horizon again, wondering what is next. What does that make me? I am not quite a pirate, but not quite a big safe ship either.

I used to be a kayak, running fast and furious through rough rapids. Or perhaps even a surfer waiting for the next wave. In between times of excitement and turmoil, when the waters were calm, I was simply lost and alone. My little vessel, which thrived in the rapids of change, was simply inhabitable in the long stretches of calm water. And unfortunately, with a vessel so small, it was impossible to invite anyone else on board.

I have a bigger vessel now. I have invited people on board, and found a way care for myself and sometimes others, as needed. My pace is slower and less frantic, but always moving nonetheless. Although I have a map, and I understand latitude and longitude, I prefer navigating by the stars, with my attention always aimed at the sky instead of down at the measurements. I simply trust the wisdom of the stars more than I will ever trust an experience somebody else has put on paper. Most importantly, I still look at the horizon. And if the winds of change call, I will answer, even if I have to travel alone…