I don’t mean: Do you want to stay alive forever?
My assumption is that we all will die sometime, hopefully when we are old and full of years.
Many search for the fountain of youth, to enjoy health and beauty and vigor; but few would want to live everlastingly, as did the frustrated humans in the movie, Tuck Everlasting.
So, I will ask again; Do you ever want to die? And once again, I clarify. I do not mean, “I just wanted to die, I was so embarrassed.” I do not mean the colorful, “die of mortification (which is rather redundant).”
I mean, do you ever feel like it would be nice to be dead already? Do you ever get so tired, so stressed, so overwhelmed, or burned out, that you just want to be dead? I don’t want to die violently. I don’t want the pain of dying by accident or disease. There are times, I confess, when I want to be dead already-without the bother or pain of getting there. At times like that it is important for me to take a long walk; take a mini hot-springs vacation in the bathtub; give myself the luxury of sleeping in or enjoying a savory meal; devour a good book, or have a philosophical talk with a life-long friend. How about you? What do you do to restore your energy and joie de vivre?
After much reflection on who I am and who I am meant to be, I have decided that I love to travel and see and learn and laugh. I want to spend my mornings writing, my afternoons reading, and my whole life making music. I love fine food, long walks, and conversations with witty intelligent people. I long to know and be known; love and be loved, know that my life is making a difference for others. I want to find my ambience and excel. I need plenty of time alone and plenty of time with friends and family. I want to discover, design and analyze. Please forward all salaried situations matching this description! I want to move on with my dreams.
Today I am trying to be gentle with ME. I’ve been beating myself up again. Beating myself up with black and white thinking. Here’s how it works: I catch myself in error. At first I deny my mistake on the grounds that I am conscientious. I strive to do what is right –always, so, since I was consciously trying to do the right thing, how could I have made a mistake? Still, the niggling thought that I might have been wrong persists. Then, the light goes on. A friend, an event, a thought, points out to me that I have made a grievous error. I say grievous because, regardless of the minisculetude or magnitude of the mistake, it will cause grief in my soul. I admit I was wrong. If necessary I make amends. I do all I can do to correct it. I am unable to leave it behind. I am now a failure. I begin to think and rethink my entire life. Maybe I have always been wrong.
It is a great thing to know when you are wrong and admit it. It is mental and emotional cancer to think that because you were wrong once, you can never be trusted. You were wrong always and forever. A moment on that black and white path will undo my confidence, my self-worth, my self-esteem. In a heartbeat, I have dropped into never ending despair. What will rescue me from my own black and white thinking? Oh for the wisdom to know and freely admit when I am wrong; the grace and confidence to move forward; the discernment to know when I am right; so to stand like a rock amid the tumult of naysayers. Oh for the love to be gentle with myself and therefore gentle with others; to have the grace to think and act in such a way that understands that they, too, may be wrong sometimes without me rejecting them as full blown tyrants.