Some Thoughts…I Think

I wish I was compelled to write about cupcakes or something. I wish that things were the way I wanted them to be and not the way they are. I wish I was more idealistic and less cynical. Oh well, my life isn’t that hard. I don’t really like cupcakes. Things might become the way I want them to be in time. I’m glad I’m cynical because I don’t get let down quite as often. 

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I was talking to Aj about my last post where I called myself a coward. She said that I had “honor, morals and standards”. That I wasn’t really a coward. That’s a nice thing to say to me. It’s one of the nicest things I’ve been told today. She was beat out by my wife saying “I love you”. That phrase wins every time. So, since Aj told me so, maybe I’m not as scared as I thought I was. I’m probably not. It just seems that I have a high standard to live up to…or, as usual, I’m my own hardest critic. Wouldn’t be the first time in my life, won’t be the last.

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This next bit is for a friend, hope she realizes it. She’s a great lady that is seeming to sell herself short. I can relate. I wish she realized that she has something worth reading. I’ve read what she shares with no one and think it’s worth telling to who ever will listen or read it. You don’t have to be brave to tell the truth. What’s the worst that can happen? That the people that you care about will respect you for taking a stand and that folks that you don’t know might disapprove? You can do it. Every one of us knows something unique to themselves. Everyone has something worth saying. Please open up. I’ll read everything you write. I read everything that you let me. At the minimum, you have an appreciative audience of one. *grins* Seriously, you want a loan of some courage? *offers box of courage* Here’s some of mine.

*******

Why is it that most of the people that I’m close to are women? I work in a butcher shop. That’s a male dominated occupation. Yet, when I look at the people I talk to on a regular basis outside of work, 90% are women. Seems like my favorite people are women. My mentor/bftinmw/confidant/instructor in “non-romantic love” *there’s bound to be a Greek word for it* is a woman. When I need prayer, I go to women. When I want to just have a conversation with someone, it’s usually a woman. There’s gotta be a reason. I’m sure I could put in some self deprecating remark about men being boneheads and women being smarter and wiser than we are. It might even be correct. It might be something as simple as that the people I happen to know that I enjoy being around are women and it’s statistically insignificant. Oh well, I’ll just be grateful for the women in my life and not stress it. 

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I am eternally grateful that I don’t believe that doing things different than I do makes them bad. I can’t figure out the mindset that wants to be surrounded by a bunch of mental clones singing Kumbaya ,marching in lockstep and avoiding anyone that is different than they are.That doesn’t have any appeal to me. I’d rather be surrounded by the widely varied group of friends that I have. I’d rather hang with someone of a different faith that has love, than someone of my own faith that is quick to condemn. I’d rather be around someone that is honest with themselves and me, than a liar that wears a mask. I have learned about love from people that are truly honest with themselves and me. I won’t be around people that are incapable of that basic honesty and compassion. I don’t care if they love everybody as long as they are capable of loving somebody. I’ve said it before, “millions” and “billions” are numbers beyond what I can grasp, so I don’t try to love everyone. I am working on a smaller subset. It isn’t too much to ask from the people that I’m around. I think they agree or they wouldn’t be around, either. Anyway, I could have started and stopped this paragraph at “I’m eternally grateful…” and that would have been enough because I am.

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To explain the last sentence of the last paragraph,  8 years 3 months and 25 days ago I wanted to freeze to death in my sleep. I didn’t. That was the end of the end. This is my new life. There are details and stuff. The simple version is that the next day the Prodigal Son walked the Damascus Road. Your faith might not be mine. That makes me no difference. For me, mine saved my life. By my counting, I m 8 years old. Now you understand my gratitude. Now you can understand why I am protective of my friends. To me, it was the Hand of the Divine that kept me alive for something. I think that learning gratitude and love and friendship and courage and loyalty are a big part of it. Those and being a good husband.

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That’s enough for one night. Hug someone you love, will ya?

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