I struggle sometimes to find things to write about without bitching. Without complaining about what things are wrong, or what things could be better. Because nobody wants to read about how good I have it, do they? Or maybe they do, but I’ve never been one to brag. We bond over our shared bad experiences; we relate to each other. It makes us one part of the great human struggle. It connects us.
Is it ignorant to acknowledge the times when life is good? I know of course it’s not. It takes entirely too much energy to be cynical all the time. And I don’t even want to be that kind of person. But then, is it foolish to be ignorantly blissful all the time? Is it negligent of the things that could and should be fixed in our world. Of course it is.
So we try to find balance. Balance, I think, is the key to life.
All of this is common sense, I know. I’m just rambling.
On a completely different tangent, today is the birthday of my cousin I grew up with, Michelle. She was my very first best friend. She still lives in Toledo and I talk to her maybe once a year, at Christmas if she comes over to my family’s dinner. She just had a baby, I hear.
Isn’t it odd how we let people go from our lives, as we move away, get older, busier. There is only room or time enough for so many, and we sacrifice some to make room for others. Or so it seems. Many times I know I’ve been the one sacrificed to make room for someone more fun, more intriguing, more appropriate at the time. It happens, I guess.
And that’s not a complaint, not really. It’s just the way things are.