“It did not really matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us. We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life, and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life – daily and hourly. Our answer must consist, not in talk and meditation, but in right action and in right conduct. Life ultimately means taking the responsibility to find the right answer to its problems and to fulfill the tasks which it constantly sets for each individual.” From K’s beloved book, Man’s Search for Meaning
It’s easier not to.
So he didn’t show up when he said he would. The person whom you loved, was supposed to love you and yours, abandoned you, his ideals, his very soul perhaps in the messiness of everyday hunger, the beingness of humanity, the shitting and thirst, the drive to prove that there’s something more: more pure, more lasting, more worthy… than this mess, that is you, me, the whole of creation. This living you are doing right now, perhaps clawing down on zillion rock particles craning a thin neck towards those pyramids.
And the gratitutious aspects of that living. The colors raised on tiny fur in each petal, Emma Bean dressing up as a lion cub on her second halloween, the scratched tile suddenly apparent to you that time you locked yourself in the bathroom in a failed attempt to escape his clawing.
There is no right, and no wrong. Except expecting so.
what if I got it wrong? that instead of needing to forgive, that I needed to recognize. That missing was mistaken, for dissappointment…You don’t hate him. You just miss him. Missing the illusion of an intact wholeness. mistaking the teacher for the teaching. missing how easy it was to set yourself and others up for failure. I think you miss that version of yourself most of all.
Its easier not to.
And yet, you dissapoint us! Fathers who do not do as they say, mother’s who do not nourish. Leaders who abandon their values, friends who do not persist through inconviences.
I return to this: Expectation. Expecting perfection, expecting ease, expecting linearness: that what you reap, you will sow. Expecing anything less than strict adherence is a moral failure. Expecting rules will declare you “good” or perhaps “better” than before, or others.
Our expectations confine to a self induced slavery, only belaboring pain and artificially puffing up dissapointment. The last time you felt victimized or less than, it most likely flowered by expectation.
Yes, I forgive you for going for the gold, the mental gymnastics you agyly perform in an empty auditorium. And every now and again, grace butterspirals in random drumbeats, and I even forgive myself.
For holding on. For fearing. For not reaching out. For hating you, and really hating myself for falling in love with you to begin with.
But I could’t help it. You were my mother . My husband. My beloved childhood friend, My Saviour.
It’s easier not to.
Should I expect anything less?
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