And what *do* I think of external dependencies?
Whether it's antidepressants, stories we tell ourselves that support what we think of ourselves and others, or whatever we use as our soft landing (such as, for me last night, television), that it behooves us to remain aware of our ever-present capacity to turn any moment into the highest expression of our humanity. Whatever it is we think we need, it's still us, all us, and it always will be.
The difference with me is that for myself, I've made it my responsibility to exercise that capability - to myself, mostly. And I fail a lot, just as others don't even care, so I don't hold the standard to others most of the time.
The fear in me that drives this belief (because I was learned to pre-empt the things I don't like, after all) remains that we'll find excuses to not exercise that capability, as long as we have crutches that we convince ourselves we need to get there. That somehow keep the moments from being right. Of course we will use the excuses. We're human. I have my excuses just as much as others, and I don't obsess over them either. But I see their long, obscuring shadows when I look at who I think I am.
Maybe I just agree too much with my dad on the potential cost of having external dependencies - he was referring to them physically, but I've taken it to the level of aversion, diversion, ignorance. Many people, as I'm learning now, necessarily remain dependent physically (my mom will probably be in that position later in life). Perhaps I just have an overdeveloped sense of fighting all of my own fights, without recognizing how many people have cushioned me from them, in exchange for my loyalty.
Maybe this makes me emotionally cold or distant. I'd like to think, for my love of moments past, that this isn't true. I'd like to think I've learned to make peace with things as they arise. (And yes, I will remember that the next time I have a screaming match with my mother.)
If Lee Adama had a blog, I bet it wouldn't be far off from this.
The difference with me is that for myself, I've made it my responsibility to exercise that capability - to myself, mostly. And I fail a lot, just as others don't even care, so I don't hold the standard to others most of the time.
The fear in me that drives this belief (because I was learned to pre-empt the things I don't like, after all) remains that we'll find excuses to not exercise that capability, as long as we have crutches that we convince ourselves we need to get there. That somehow keep the moments from being right. Of course we will use the excuses. We're human. I have my excuses just as much as others, and I don't obsess over them either. But I see their long, obscuring shadows when I look at who I think I am.
Maybe I just agree too much with my dad on the potential cost of having external dependencies - he was referring to them physically, but I've taken it to the level of aversion, diversion, ignorance. Many people, as I'm learning now, necessarily remain dependent physically (my mom will probably be in that position later in life). Perhaps I just have an overdeveloped sense of fighting all of my own fights, without recognizing how many people have cushioned me from them, in exchange for my loyalty.
Maybe this makes me emotionally cold or distant. I'd like to think, for my love of moments past, that this isn't true. I'd like to think I've learned to make peace with things as they arise. (And yes, I will remember that the next time I have a screaming match with my mother.)
If Lee Adama had a blog, I bet it wouldn't be far off from this.