When things are rough one ought to remember what they got.
I got a job that I like, haven’t always been able to say that.
Got the most beautiful, smartest and most enjoyable little girl in the world, who fills me with happiness every moment I am with her (haven’t always been able to say that either).
Got an amazing good mate (something most may not have).
Got friends (better than gold, that is).
Got me health (better than ever).
Got a house.
It’s been a rough turn of events. When you hope on justice and she barely moves for you. When you been wronged so long that it’s an outrage and no one really cares except to get the benjamins.
So I am counting those good things in life.
When I read The Old Man and the Sea, I cried. Then I decided it was a distinctly negative take on life. Hemingway seemed to be saying through this book that we all will be destroyed slowly, eventually through life–through the pain it brings to us and watching what we need taken away from us. But as life churns on, I don’t think it is the way. Optimistic? Maybe. I know it’s my faith. I think what one does with those stomach churning events is where it’s at. And I can’t imagine where a person would be without confidence in God.
When a person parents a child something happens sometimes. People would tell me about the way people change when they became parents, and I thought it was all BS. “I won’t change, I’ll still be coo, yo.” But there has been a change. I cannot watch or tolerate images of children in abusive/unloving circumstances. It hits me to my core.
We saw a presentation about Methamphetamines today. Babies burned, cut, damaged through drug use. I cannot bear to watch it.
Empathic. On the radio they talked about this, that if you have experienced something that you see portrayed, often one overly empathizes, sometimes to the point of feeling physical pain when they see circumstances they can empathize with. My child has never been burned, neglected, damaged. But when I see children in these situations it is more than I can bear. I do not know what to do with this overflow of empathy. I get angry, sad and generally very upset.
I have never felt this way before. I don’t know what to do with it. For as ludicrous as it may sound, I want to protect, help.
I speculate whether this means I ought to change profession. Perhaps.
Not sure what to do with this. It pains me immensely to see children in perilous or violent or unloving circumstances.
There we are Empathique.