“That post didn’t show you in the best light,” he said.
You know what that means, Readers, right? It means: I didn’t like what you wrote. (Over yesterday’s angry rant.)
And it’s all right now (yeah)
I learned my lesson well
You see, ya can’t please everyone
So you got to please yourself —Ricky Nelson
My critic was well-intended, probably protective, and most concerned over the airing of dirty laundry that may humiliate me. Kindest Man points out that what I am doing, “… is to report emotions veritas, not an emotional, overblown catharsis of the sort later regretted.”
“There is a difference,” KM wrote, “…between disclosure of the real and ranting about the anger. Moreover you didn’t reveal anything irrelevant or necessarily private (like the size of his dick*); in fact you shed light on things one person in particular would rather you didn’t — Ex, and which I presume you think others might benefit from hearing (as opposed to just weathering your rant with weak smiles).”
NEWSFLASH: THIS HERE AIN’T FICTION.
Real life is often messy and nearly always imperfect. Sometimes it is ugly, dear ducklings. We say and do things that are regrettable, and then—God willing—we grow wiser and do better.
I have chosen to share my life with you, Dear Readers. Sometimes there are unicorns and rainbows and I like those times best of all.
Sometimes there is angst, frustration, and confusion. Maybe you wish I would spare you the knowledge of it lest I tarnish my image. I won’t spare you. I can’t. Now that you’re in, I can’t spare you any more than I can spare myself—and I do try to spare myself. I really do.
Maybe someday there will be nothing angst-y left. Maybe I will be able to release my attachments in the quiet of my mind in some perfect Buddhist mind-dance. I hope so. I hope you’ll be with me.
“I want happiness,” the man said.
“Remove the ‘I,’ the Buddha is said to have replied. “That is ego.”
“Remove the ‘want,” Buddha added. “That is attachment to desire.”
“What remains,” he said, “is simply ‘happiness.’”
Don’t mind me, I’m just working myself into a meditative lather in preparation for Gollum’s arrival. A gal’s got to have hobbies. Knitting; maybe I should try knitting instead? I have never met a knitter I didn’t like. It’s a meditative hobby, calming.
For now I’ll just keep dancing over broken glass and hot coals, and eventually, through fields of flowers too, maybe with some rainbows. And unicorns. I welcome you to come along to every clumsy dance practice, to duck with me into cheap studios with broken mirrors and watch me sweat and blister until I get good.
You’re here, so let’s get on with the dancing. Let’s make this one life truly worthwhile.
(By the way, I love you for showing up.)
*You just KNOW I want to get into that dick size conversation now… The angel wins this round—No. Absolutely not going there. Ever. The Internet Never Forgets.