Avoiding talking about things is much more dangerous than having conversations.
I keep waiting for some great life purpose to rise up in front of me and declare itself, but I don’t seem to be wired for greatness.
A familiar web of worry and indecision grounds me in my accustomed reality.
Whisper me this, my darling, my love The song of the moonlight, of stars up above. Whisper me truth, love, and whisper me lies, Warm days of winter, cold summer skies. Whisper me anger, whisper me rain, Whisper me flowers, then whisper me pain. When I come to die, love, then whisper me this The shape of a memory, the truth of a kiss. Whisper me, whisper me, whisper.
I’m a bit psychic.” She glances up at him, measuring the impact of her words, then returns her gaze to the fire. “It left me wide open to people’s emotions when I was younger. I didn’t know how to shield myself. I didn’t believe what I’m telling you now, that people have to carry their own burdens, that they’re responsible for their own emotional journeys. I sank under the weight of it all. And so I started drinking.
It’s funny how life spins, how we go on for long stretches of time and nothing changes, and then all at once, in a single moment, everything is altered.
His anger is not my fault. I am not responsible for his behavior, then or now.
But I am not brave, and I have never been strong enough to carry the weight of my mother’s ambitions and expectations, to bear the brunt of her obsessive love.
I was confused.
The number one thing I would tell you is this. You can’t fix people. You can’t change people. So the trick, if there is one, is to differentiate. Your emotion. Their emotion. Your responsibility. Their responsibility. Oh, you can offer your friendship, your support, even your help. But what somebody does with that is entirely up to them.” “That’s.
I really really really want a touch of magic and adventure in my life.
I think you need to trust that people are strong enough to carry the truth.
And still, through all this overwhelming grief and fear and loss, my anger is an ever-present demon. It tangles itself in all the other emotions, stealing the sweetness from my love, poisoning my fear. I watch from the doorway, until finally everything stops.
It left me wide open to people’s emotions when I was younger. I didn’t know how to shield myself. I didn’t believe what I’m telling you now, that people have to carry their own burdens, that they’re responsible for their own emotional journeys.
My mother used to say that parenting classes should be mandatory before people were allowed to reproduce. She didn’t mean this to apply to herself, of course, but to the ignorant hordes whose children run wild in Walmart, pillaging candy bars and throwing tantrums. At this moment, I’m thinking there should be a mandatory university degree, which includes not only psychology but also existential philosophy.
We need food and shelter first, before we need anything else, because without those things we will die. Then we need people to love. Once we have people to love, then we can learn to love ourselves and start working toward the things we are good at, the things that make us happy.
But whether you believe or not, I think prayer is an act of love, a conscious desire for good. It also helps to create a separate space for what you feel regarding the well-being of others.