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Entry tags:
i'll just leave these here
I always feel a bit silly writing things like this.,
And I wanted to talk about how good things are yesterday, but when a new friend says they'd like to see what Toward the Terra is about...well. SOME THINGS JUST GOTTA BE PUT FIRST. Grow, little sparkles, grow. 8)
But yeah. I'm. Having really, really good days. Like...Just. I do not go to sleep in dread. The dread I do feel washes aside in the face of good things. Everybody was so nice to me because I was so nice to them, and even the people coming through with troubles or stresses or reasons that they could be unkind were grateful, thankful, and as good as anyone could ever ask. When someone says thank you and addresses me by name, I feel even better. Like my input wasn't just some machinized response they expected from a part-timer.
I held up the line just a wee bit when a man drove up and asked about the nature in the park. We talked about the turtles that're laying soon and he told me he was grateful and that I should have a good day. I could smile and wave at the line and hope that indulging in a bit more talk than "Would you like a map?" with a guest for a change. It's that kind of thing that would...make a person want to come back, isn't it? I know I'd like to be treated to something so nice. That's why I did it.
I can easily chalk up this good mood to three major things: two are just things, so I suppose I'd have to say it's one thing and two things I interpret. The first thing is the beautiful rosary bracelet Dre sent me. I carry my own rosary with me wherever I go, but it's zipped in its pouch and kept out of sight, so I seldom think to pick it up when I have a few idle minutes. This one is right on my wrist and I look at my hands a lot, so the odds are pretty much in favor of putting the thing to use. And I do. And I am proud and glad and grateful to. These kinds of things used to inconvenience me when I was younger, and I'd only do it out of obligation or when I was most scared, clawing for things to make me feel safe and healthy. It's not the same anymore.
The second thing was deciding to pick up a couple books to reread. I have a collection of essays by apologists called Who Made God? that covers a lot of fairly generic, non-specific questions and gives their own insight on the matter. Most of it is evangelical or Protestant, but the questions themselves are not sect-specific. It gives me enough room to look and ponder for myself what it all means and how I should take it, which is kind of the point in being engaged in something like this, right? It's a poor person who just takes something for face value without confirming it with themselves as many ways as they can.
I also tore through Mere Christianity again because there is hardly an easier author to read than Lewis. A lot of the chapters were transcribed from his radio talks, so it's no wonder I can hear a conversational tone. It helps. He paints pictures of difficult concepts and makes them easy to grasp. He's not preachy; he's just as interested in trying to find the truth in the matter of things, even if they don't turn out the way he likes it. I like that. It takes a friggin' book from half a century ago to remind me of things that should be so obvious to me by now. I had to work hard not to openly cry, because I was at work, and that would be a bit silly to explain. At least it was happy tears this time around, and there really isn't any shame in that.
The third thing is a mess of things. I've spent so much time hating the things I do, think, or say and turning it around and hating it in others. I'd blame things or concepts for the wrong, but not really do anything to evade or get past it. I'd go into confession and choke each time I tried to really say what was wrong with me, and I'd just smash it all together and say "Father, I'm such a mess and a rotten waste of space, I don't think I deserve forgiving."
And it's probably true. Which is why it means so much to me to know that despite all that, I really am forgiven. I believe this. Nobody else has to. It's on me to decide what I find true or not and how I deal with it. It's not anybody else's business, and I think...I forget that. I think that I should be some kind of bitter, woe-is-me martyr about what I believe, because the culture of the world is so vast and so different and so filled with things I do and don't understand. I think that I am stupid for thinking that way, as if putting some kind of badge on my sleeve and shuffling my feet whenever these soft, personal things are public.
I've been judgemental. Of myself, of others, of everything that makes everyone someone. That's not what I should be about. No wonder I'm unhappy. I can't possibly want everyone to agree with everything I think; it kills the potential for a new outlook or change for the better (or worse, but that's just how things go). I shouldn't hate myself for believing something I can't make myself disbelieve. I should be learning and seeing if that doesn't confirm or debunk the things I accept. I make a big deal out of things so personal and just assume everyone is judging me on it. That I'm being preceived as a fool or someone less than worth the time or consideration.
Maybe I should be, thinking like that. I am not the center of the universe. I am a center of some certain feelings, but those are mine, no one else's. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that and I shouldn't treat myself like there is. It's not fair, and it affects how I treat others, which is also unfair.
I don't have to like everyone, and everyone doesn't have to like me. I shouldn't wish ill of anyone, regardless, because I wouldn't want anyone to wish ill of me. I should just hope that everyone--everyone is okay, gets the chance to be okay, and will find it, even if I don't like them. Because that's what I'd want for myself.
It's okay that I'm not in love. It's okay not to think that's what's waiting for me, but it's also okay to still hope. It's okay to want to be chaste and try hard and succeed and be better with my time and my skills, and it's okay to backslide so long as I pick myself up and keep trying. I'm not perfect, and as far as I'm concerned, there hasn't been a perfect person on the planet in over two thousand years. But I should still try. Because good begets good, even when bad things happen. I can still be polite and smile and help visitors even when I'm miserable and hot in the dead of July with a broken fan and all the ice is melted. I'd want to be treated the same.
It's okay that I cry thinking about these things, because it's okay that they're important to me. I don't have to fit some preconception of myself that the world makes, because really...nobody's been that focused on making me that. It's just been my fears and judgements and fears of judgements that made me think so. That made me think I was going to be wrong and alone because I can't get behind a trend or fad or notion that doesn't make me comfortable or happy. It's okay.
I am so unbelievably, inconceivably, undeservably lucky. I am not brilliant and math, science, or staying focused on a task till it's done. I've picked the most ridiculous paths for a career in economic times hardly ripe for it. I've screwed up, ending up with debts that'll take me years to waft through. I've burdened my parents. I've distanced from old friends. I've shut away and cried and wondered if this is just what I deserve. I forget how absolutely lucky I am.
I have parents that tell me they love me and are proud of me no matter what. They put that on every card, even when I screw up and don't deserve it. I have a brilliant sister who is going to be an amazing nurse; she hits the books so hard and even though we're really distant in personality, which makes it hard to connect, I'm proud of her. I shouldn't be jealous.
I have so. Many. Friends. On here. Friends and acquaintences. I have friends to talk about the comics I love, friends to talk about the movies and shows I love, friends to talk about the faith that I love, friends to talk to when I am low again. The way my mind's been, by rights I don't deserve a single one of you. Not a single one. I forget to be kind or attentive too much to earn the kindnesses that I'm given. The praises are worth more than what the praising is for.
I have a gift that people tell me makes them happy. Where my attitude and words and thinking fails, I can make something that brightens a day or gives someone just a flicker of good feelings. Even if it's just a small thing, is there really anything more I could ask for than that? Money's fine, but money isn't the same. Anyone can get money.
I have a home and I have clothes and I have a job and I have this funky series of tubes called the Internet to open me out to people I would've never met or thought to meet before. It even spurred me onto a plane to meet one, and how lucky is that? That I have friends in faraway places that are just as important as the ones here. Maybe more.
I have the insight into myself to know what I am and what I'm not. That I've been too easy to herd myself along some kind of thought or trend that I think everyone will accept, and when the fit isn't quite right, I fret. But I know better, or I should know better.
Trying to be good for a couple days is easier than trying to be good forever. I worry that I'll fall back into darker places and lose sight of everything again, that the petty problems will become my only focus and I'll forget how incredibly fortunate I am. That I'll start thinking life is over at 23 and that everything bad I've ever done is irredeemable and utterly defines me as a person and that nobody should waste their time on me. That I'll be alone forever. That I'll never get my footholds out of debt and never land a job that keeps food in my belly and wheels on my car and a roof over my head.
I'll need reminders. I have one on my wrist, and I have one around my neck, and I have several at the click of a button.
I'm sorry for negligence and distance and unhappy feelings stirred because of me. I'm sorry for not being attentive and honored by having you here, though I should at every moment. I'm sorry for letting my judgements of myself and the world cloud me. I want to do better, and I'm going to try, but I'm not a perfect creature yet, so I hope you'll forgive me and help me. And I hope that I can help, too. I'm sorry this is such a quasi-incoherent mess of thoughts with no real center. I'm not a good essay writer.
And I hope this wasn't too eyerollingly cheesy or painful to get through. I got carried away, but I feel okay about it, I think. At least the crying is happy crying, and I should be done with that by the time my sister wakes up.
LMFAO WOW AM I BEING REWARDED FOR THINKING HAPPY THOUGHTS?? Vinland is totally back to viewability on OneManga 8))))
And I wanted to talk about how good things are yesterday, but when a new friend says they'd like to see what Toward the Terra is about...well. SOME THINGS JUST GOTTA BE PUT FIRST. Grow, little sparkles, grow. 8)
But yeah. I'm. Having really, really good days. Like...Just. I do not go to sleep in dread. The dread I do feel washes aside in the face of good things. Everybody was so nice to me because I was so nice to them, and even the people coming through with troubles or stresses or reasons that they could be unkind were grateful, thankful, and as good as anyone could ever ask. When someone says thank you and addresses me by name, I feel even better. Like my input wasn't just some machinized response they expected from a part-timer.
I held up the line just a wee bit when a man drove up and asked about the nature in the park. We talked about the turtles that're laying soon and he told me he was grateful and that I should have a good day. I could smile and wave at the line and hope that indulging in a bit more talk than "Would you like a map?" with a guest for a change. It's that kind of thing that would...make a person want to come back, isn't it? I know I'd like to be treated to something so nice. That's why I did it.
I can easily chalk up this good mood to three major things: two are just things, so I suppose I'd have to say it's one thing and two things I interpret. The first thing is the beautiful rosary bracelet Dre sent me. I carry my own rosary with me wherever I go, but it's zipped in its pouch and kept out of sight, so I seldom think to pick it up when I have a few idle minutes. This one is right on my wrist and I look at my hands a lot, so the odds are pretty much in favor of putting the thing to use. And I do. And I am proud and glad and grateful to. These kinds of things used to inconvenience me when I was younger, and I'd only do it out of obligation or when I was most scared, clawing for things to make me feel safe and healthy. It's not the same anymore.
The second thing was deciding to pick up a couple books to reread. I have a collection of essays by apologists called Who Made God? that covers a lot of fairly generic, non-specific questions and gives their own insight on the matter. Most of it is evangelical or Protestant, but the questions themselves are not sect-specific. It gives me enough room to look and ponder for myself what it all means and how I should take it, which is kind of the point in being engaged in something like this, right? It's a poor person who just takes something for face value without confirming it with themselves as many ways as they can.
I also tore through Mere Christianity again because there is hardly an easier author to read than Lewis. A lot of the chapters were transcribed from his radio talks, so it's no wonder I can hear a conversational tone. It helps. He paints pictures of difficult concepts and makes them easy to grasp. He's not preachy; he's just as interested in trying to find the truth in the matter of things, even if they don't turn out the way he likes it. I like that. It takes a friggin' book from half a century ago to remind me of things that should be so obvious to me by now. I had to work hard not to openly cry, because I was at work, and that would be a bit silly to explain. At least it was happy tears this time around, and there really isn't any shame in that.
The third thing is a mess of things. I've spent so much time hating the things I do, think, or say and turning it around and hating it in others. I'd blame things or concepts for the wrong, but not really do anything to evade or get past it. I'd go into confession and choke each time I tried to really say what was wrong with me, and I'd just smash it all together and say "Father, I'm such a mess and a rotten waste of space, I don't think I deserve forgiving."
And it's probably true. Which is why it means so much to me to know that despite all that, I really am forgiven. I believe this. Nobody else has to. It's on me to decide what I find true or not and how I deal with it. It's not anybody else's business, and I think...I forget that. I think that I should be some kind of bitter, woe-is-me martyr about what I believe, because the culture of the world is so vast and so different and so filled with things I do and don't understand. I think that I am stupid for thinking that way, as if putting some kind of badge on my sleeve and shuffling my feet whenever these soft, personal things are public.
I've been judgemental. Of myself, of others, of everything that makes everyone someone. That's not what I should be about. No wonder I'm unhappy. I can't possibly want everyone to agree with everything I think; it kills the potential for a new outlook or change for the better (or worse, but that's just how things go). I shouldn't hate myself for believing something I can't make myself disbelieve. I should be learning and seeing if that doesn't confirm or debunk the things I accept. I make a big deal out of things so personal and just assume everyone is judging me on it. That I'm being preceived as a fool or someone less than worth the time or consideration.
Maybe I should be, thinking like that. I am not the center of the universe. I am a center of some certain feelings, but those are mine, no one else's. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that and I shouldn't treat myself like there is. It's not fair, and it affects how I treat others, which is also unfair.
I don't have to like everyone, and everyone doesn't have to like me. I shouldn't wish ill of anyone, regardless, because I wouldn't want anyone to wish ill of me. I should just hope that everyone--everyone is okay, gets the chance to be okay, and will find it, even if I don't like them. Because that's what I'd want for myself.
It's okay that I'm not in love. It's okay not to think that's what's waiting for me, but it's also okay to still hope. It's okay to want to be chaste and try hard and succeed and be better with my time and my skills, and it's okay to backslide so long as I pick myself up and keep trying. I'm not perfect, and as far as I'm concerned, there hasn't been a perfect person on the planet in over two thousand years. But I should still try. Because good begets good, even when bad things happen. I can still be polite and smile and help visitors even when I'm miserable and hot in the dead of July with a broken fan and all the ice is melted. I'd want to be treated the same.
It's okay that I cry thinking about these things, because it's okay that they're important to me. I don't have to fit some preconception of myself that the world makes, because really...nobody's been that focused on making me that. It's just been my fears and judgements and fears of judgements that made me think so. That made me think I was going to be wrong and alone because I can't get behind a trend or fad or notion that doesn't make me comfortable or happy. It's okay.
I am so unbelievably, inconceivably, undeservably lucky. I am not brilliant and math, science, or staying focused on a task till it's done. I've picked the most ridiculous paths for a career in economic times hardly ripe for it. I've screwed up, ending up with debts that'll take me years to waft through. I've burdened my parents. I've distanced from old friends. I've shut away and cried and wondered if this is just what I deserve. I forget how absolutely lucky I am.
I have parents that tell me they love me and are proud of me no matter what. They put that on every card, even when I screw up and don't deserve it. I have a brilliant sister who is going to be an amazing nurse; she hits the books so hard and even though we're really distant in personality, which makes it hard to connect, I'm proud of her. I shouldn't be jealous.
I have so. Many. Friends. On here. Friends and acquaintences. I have friends to talk about the comics I love, friends to talk about the movies and shows I love, friends to talk about the faith that I love, friends to talk to when I am low again. The way my mind's been, by rights I don't deserve a single one of you. Not a single one. I forget to be kind or attentive too much to earn the kindnesses that I'm given. The praises are worth more than what the praising is for.
I have a gift that people tell me makes them happy. Where my attitude and words and thinking fails, I can make something that brightens a day or gives someone just a flicker of good feelings. Even if it's just a small thing, is there really anything more I could ask for than that? Money's fine, but money isn't the same. Anyone can get money.
I have a home and I have clothes and I have a job and I have this funky series of tubes called the Internet to open me out to people I would've never met or thought to meet before. It even spurred me onto a plane to meet one, and how lucky is that? That I have friends in faraway places that are just as important as the ones here. Maybe more.
I have the insight into myself to know what I am and what I'm not. That I've been too easy to herd myself along some kind of thought or trend that I think everyone will accept, and when the fit isn't quite right, I fret. But I know better, or I should know better.
Trying to be good for a couple days is easier than trying to be good forever. I worry that I'll fall back into darker places and lose sight of everything again, that the petty problems will become my only focus and I'll forget how incredibly fortunate I am. That I'll start thinking life is over at 23 and that everything bad I've ever done is irredeemable and utterly defines me as a person and that nobody should waste their time on me. That I'll be alone forever. That I'll never get my footholds out of debt and never land a job that keeps food in my belly and wheels on my car and a roof over my head.
I'll need reminders. I have one on my wrist, and I have one around my neck, and I have several at the click of a button.
I'm sorry for negligence and distance and unhappy feelings stirred because of me. I'm sorry for not being attentive and honored by having you here, though I should at every moment. I'm sorry for letting my judgements of myself and the world cloud me. I want to do better, and I'm going to try, but I'm not a perfect creature yet, so I hope you'll forgive me and help me. And I hope that I can help, too. I'm sorry this is such a quasi-incoherent mess of thoughts with no real center. I'm not a good essay writer.
And I hope this wasn't too eyerollingly cheesy or painful to get through. I got carried away, but I feel okay about it, I think. At least the crying is happy crying, and I should be done with that by the time my sister wakes up.
LMFAO WOW AM I BEING REWARDED FOR THINKING HAPPY THOUGHTS?? Vinland is totally back to viewability on OneManga 8))))
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