That awkward moment when you realize that the presumed deceased is still alive.
I thought you were dead.
I hear that all the time.
But I killed you myself. I saw you disintegrate. How can you still be here? And after all this time you come back and for what? What do you want from me?
Just because you stop ‘believing’ in me, doesn’t mean I disappear. Just because you give me a new name or divert my attention to something else or mute me, doesn’t mean I’m not still here.
And then the panic.
Gluttony, Greed, Pride, Sloth, Envy, Lust, Wrath. Call me what you like, I’m a part of you. I will always be a part of you. We once got along so well. You once let me serve you…and then you decided I was of no use to you.
But you aren’t.
So says the human who is chronically disappointed and already has such low expectations of the world that she doesn’t know how to enjoy my absence. You don’t know what contentment is if you refuse to acknowledge me.
What good does it do to let you out?
It’s not about doing good. It’s about your sanity. You say you have no destination, no To-Do list, fine. No grand plans, no lofty endeavors, all fine. And, I could even applaud you for your intention of not wasting your energy resenting people or things that throw you off equilibrium. Michael Robotham was on point when he said that “Resentment is like swallowing a poison and waiting for the other person to die.”
And, it’s not always about other people. It’s mostly about you. You don’t have to expect much from your fellow man, but to expect twice as much from yourself? That is the very definition of setting yourself up for disappointment. You legitimately have no quarrel with anyone else to the extent that I’d make an appearance, all right. That’s great because I need my rest too.
So, what’s your point? I still need to invite you to a party that I don’t want to have and you may not even want to attend?
Well, yeah. The party ain’t going anywhere. There’s always going to be a party whether you want to be there or not. And it’s not about being me, it’s about feeling me, especially when you are the reason you don’t want me here.
Do you know me?
Do you know you?
So the above dialogue was very much inspired by real life. I had made a decision many years ago to stop getting mad at external stressors (primarily homo sapiens) because I’d read an editorial about the futility of negative emotions. If Julio knocked over Barnaby’s science project and Barnaby gets mad, does Julio suffer? Nope. Even if Julio feels bad about it, Barnaby is still mad and the project is still ruined. If Barnaby recognizes that he’s frustrated that he has to start again or salvage the project, he’s spending his time or energy more effectively.
But, if you multiply that by every day or every week or every month and then for years? I’ve learned the hard way that the feeling of anger is still there even if the conscious mind brushes it off as insignificant.
And, it leaks into the body. Who wants a headache or debilitating neck pain when one can just sit there and scowl because one is justifiably or non-justifiably upset at being off-kilter?