Your opinion is your opinion, your perception is your perception–do not confuse them with “facts” or “truth”. Wars have been fought and millions have been killed because of the inability of men to understand the idea that EVERYBODY has a different viewpoint. John Moore
I’m wondering when my opinions become the strongest. Or more to the point – when am I the most vociferous about them?
Many of my opinions are strong. Although I no longer see most things in black and white, I still veer toward the more intense colors of any subject. What, however, looses my tongue and makes me argumentative about them?
Alcohol, of course.
Anger, when aroused can create some heated arguments.
Fear, which is the basis of anger anyway.
Last night I could hear my ideas flying about like razors even as my friends gently leaned away from me. And so I spent my go-to-sleep drowse and my wake-up-thoughts coming to understand my behavior. I must be compassionate with myself and not spiral into self-denigration.
I have been a little bit ill too long without answers. My energy is beaten down. My confidence is shaken. Fear trembles beneath the surface of the unanswered questions. Anger bubbles up in defense.
I owe some apologies this morning.
Have not fear of perfection – you’ll never reach it. Salvador Dali
Much has been said about perfection. The word is batted around loosely. The search for perfection is treated as the path to nirvana.
And for me, the need to be perfect is a bit of a hell. My struggle toward acceptance runs head-on to my need for perfection.I am constantly amazed at how many of my feelings of inadequacy, of anger, of fear, (I could go on forever); when stripped to their naked core are my need to be perceived and to perceive myself as perfect.
I recently had a glaring lesson in how ridiculous this is. My blood sugar was tipping about recently together with some other symptoms that could have been related to diabetes. What? Me?
No matter what the outcome of a doctor visit, I felt sure I could handle my issues with diet and exercise. But me? Diabetes? When I pride myself on my healthy lifestyle?*
What was I really afraid of? Being wrong. In the face of what could be a damaging disease I found these little squiggy places in my brain that weren’t worrying about the outcome as much as about admitting what was happening to me.
Give it up, girl! Be human. Live with who you are. (I’ll keep talking to myself.)
*I didn’t visit the concepts of genetic predispostitions, aging with its breakdown of parts, etc.
“…I have promises to keep,
I am a woman who keeps her word. I pride myself on that. When I can’t come through, I try to get my apologies in early. My friends think of me as dependable if not always punctual. My promise is a solemn oath.
Except those promises I make to myself.
And it’s true that once one promise is broken, it’s easier to break the next one. The question reverberates in the emptiness. Am I taking any steps toward a better, healthier, more loving self?
Maybe. But what come to mind are circular pathways going nowhere. Talking. Listening. Judging, (Oops!) Listening. Planning. (Oops, again!) Listening. Judging. (Damn) Listening. Talking.
Knowing I need to lose weight for my health: Eating. Sleeping. Lying in bed in the morning feeling thin. (Yes!) Pulling the scale from beneath the cabinet. Looking at the numbers. (Uh-oh…) Stepping off. Taking off my T-shirt. (That’s better.) Stepping back on. Seeing the same number for the third day. (How can this be?) Eating.
Lounging on the chair next to a stack of “have-to-read” books, doing the third Sudoku of the morning. (Time for my walk.). Feeling the cool morning air turn from refreshing to stale. (Oh no, it’s getting hot!) Drinking coffee. (I’ve GOT to go.) Loosening my shoelaces. (What a LOSER!) Lounging in the chair starting another Sudoku.
Making a list. (I’m all about organization.) Sorting and arranging the papers on my desk. (I didn’t pay what?) Assembling the garden tools. (Hell with the weeds, I think I’ll move that…) Searching the recipe drawer. (Maybe leftovers tonight.) Pulling the vacuum cleaner from the closet. (I’ll just rest a minute.) Watching Dr. Oz. Changing the date on the list.
…and miles to go before I sleep.” Robert Frost