Isn’t it funny how we can get so worked up in the moment? So unable to see the other side? So angry and so self righteous?
Then, we give the thing room to breathe. We do other things, shop for groceries, watch the sun set.
Then we revisit the moment in our mind and its power has vanished.
Where did all that energy go? Why am I suddenly able to forgive, even forget?
This happened today and I think it means that I am growing up, slowly, painfully, but surely.
It’s January 16, 2018.
I have promised my husband that I will stop reading self-help books this year.
I have been devouring self-improvement for the last 10 years and I’m scared of what will happen to me if I let my consciousness venture away from the pursuit of personal perfection.
I have to laugh at that.
Self help books have not brought me any closer to ‘perfection’. If anything, they have illuminated the vast distances I still must travel to even scratch the surface.
The honest to god truth is that these books are my little comfort blankets. As long as I am in the middle of one, I can’t be expected to really make any changes now, can I? I’m still in the learning phase, after all. I can curl up into them, rub my warm cheek against them, let them keep me safe from whatever lies beyond the starting line.
They keep me in denial. This way, I never actually have to do the work to grow.
I think this journal entry is a good sign. I have done an awful lot of reading about writing to avoid the act of putting pen to page.
It’s a Tuesday. I’m tired and cranky, but here I am writing something.
I do miss them though.