Things haven’t been going particularly well for me lately. There certainly hasn’t been anything completely catastrophic and, as has been pointed out to me on numerous occasions and in multiple formats, in the general scheme of things and the course of a lifetime, these current events are mere trifles, speed bumps, annoyances, and uncomfortable memories. Still, I can’t help but feel my characteristic “que será, será” attitude ebbing away in the midst of these unfavorable situations. My get-up-and-go has got up and went, as they say, and I haven’t been the most chipper individual lately.
Ah well. Be that as it may, things are certainly bound to turn around eventually. I still have much to be grateful for, as I constantly try to remind myself. My late-night readings of Kahlil Gibran and my current view out the window (a yellow field of tall grass bending in waves to the gentle breeze) remind me of that.
But keeping things in perspective—that’s far easier said than done. While I’m in the middle of some philosophical-religious work, I feel elevated to the heights of transcendence and peace and contentment reign. The next day, however, I’ve again sunk into a woe-is-me, the-world-is-ending-so-why-even-bother mope. Bah. I think most of us are guilty of this at some occasion or another, so give me my time to complain and it’ll all work out in the end.
The state Special Olympics are in town this weekend. Yesterday, I saw a group of athletes walking around the mall. My problems suddenly palled in comparison. Three summers ago, I volunteered for 50 hours at a workplace for the mentally handicapped. I had been told that the experience would make me appreciate what I had been given, because these people were always so happy, despite their situation in life. Far from it, I learned, for being so closely involved and interacting on a personal basis with these individuals only served to show me the suffering and monotony that was their daily lives. I was deeply touched by several of them—“Annie” who always gave hugs, “Marlene” who was madly in love with her supervisor, “Greg” who referred to me only as his “buddy.” The managers and supervisors, however, were obviously incredibly burnt-out with their jobs, and their frustration was apparent, giving the whole workshop a stressful, wearisome, uninviting atmosphere.
So, in the end, what right do I have to whine about my roadblocks since, when it comes down to it, I’ve got it pretty damn good? See—typing this out and working through it has me feeling better already. I wish more people would try this little exercise…maybe the world would be a happier place without all of the unnecessary self-pity.
Ah well. Be that as it may, things are certainly bound to turn around eventually. I still have much to be grateful for, as I constantly try to remind myself. My late-night readings of Kahlil Gibran and my current view out the window (a yellow field of tall grass bending in waves to the gentle breeze) remind me of that.
But keeping things in perspective—that’s far easier said than done. While I’m in the middle of some philosophical-religious work, I feel elevated to the heights of transcendence and peace and contentment reign. The next day, however, I’ve again sunk into a woe-is-me, the-world-is-ending-so-why-even-bother mope. Bah. I think most of us are guilty of this at some occasion or another, so give me my time to complain and it’ll all work out in the end.
The state Special Olympics are in town this weekend. Yesterday, I saw a group of athletes walking around the mall. My problems suddenly palled in comparison. Three summers ago, I volunteered for 50 hours at a workplace for the mentally handicapped. I had been told that the experience would make me appreciate what I had been given, because these people were always so happy, despite their situation in life. Far from it, I learned, for being so closely involved and interacting on a personal basis with these individuals only served to show me the suffering and monotony that was their daily lives. I was deeply touched by several of them—“Annie” who always gave hugs, “Marlene” who was madly in love with her supervisor, “Greg” who referred to me only as his “buddy.” The managers and supervisors, however, were obviously incredibly burnt-out with their jobs, and their frustration was apparent, giving the whole workshop a stressful, wearisome, uninviting atmosphere.
So, in the end, what right do I have to whine about my roadblocks since, when it comes down to it, I’ve got it pretty damn good? See—typing this out and working through it has me feeling better already. I wish more people would try this little exercise…maybe the world would be a happier place without all of the unnecessary self-pity.
3 comments:
Woohoo! Blogging therapy! Don't beat yourself up for anytime you feel down on yourself. I think we're all allowed at least a few moments of self pity!
The thing is, you do have a right to whine about your road blocks.
Everybody lives their life through their own perspective--so just because someone else has it worse doesn't mean your problems don't matter. They're problems for you.
Before, when something was really bothering me, I'd try to force optimism and say that my issues weren't really significant. But they were significant enough to cause me a lot of stress.
Now, if something upsets me, I blog openly about it, not to whine but to get it off my chest.
Sometimes you have to acknowledge what is hurting you in order to confront it and make it right. I don't know your situation, but maybe that would be helpful for you.
Lindsey--that's what I figured. ;)
BrightenedBoy--writing it out and thinking it through helps, definitely. Hence this post, though I usually try to keep my blog from being *too* personal and venty.
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