I know you don't read my...
As I write about prehistoric stages, monsters, and research galaxies that the space Hubble has viewed—and scientists declared. I realized something about a particular person that’s been in my life nearly fifty years. The thought—'I know you don’t read my shit.’—crossed my mind.
Yeah, sounds crass but its true. They’re self-involved even when I’ve acquiesced them ten times over, listening to their lives’ situations—then desired an opinion from them.
My youngest daughter asked one night, “Mom why do you guys talk so loud?”
I replied, “Sorry Honey. But I’m trying to bring her back to earth to stay on subject.”
That was four months ago. After that—I decided I’m done trying too hard with this relationship—like I always have.
The other day—I had a disastrous run. Actually, in an event. I despise disastrous events—but they happen. They can happen in training, in the kitchen, at work, in competition—practically anywhere else you could imagine in life. You just pray they don’t happen at critical times. Or are limited in their damage—at the very least managed well psychologically—even if the physical damage is great. Well, I got that going for me.
We battle things every day. Every day is a struggle—the little struggles of the day create the struggle of everyday life. There are big struggles that we are born with—by the way it’s all relative. Although, when it came to me personally I never thought it was—until a handful of years ago. My attitude was ‘be damned if I don’t do—what I say I’m going to do regardless of the circumstances’. Yes, regardless. I know sounds too tough. But that’s how I always got things done.
My last boxing trainer would ask, “You’re tired right?”
My response, “No. I’m great.” Then forty minutes later with my belly button reaching posterior to touch my spine—I’d driven to a drive-thru ice cream shop and order a medium to large strawberry ice cream shake—dying from starvation burning calories from my pre-training ten mile or so run and two hours of his training before I headed off the work and or family obligations.
“You always respond by raising the bar? Like—How high, Sir!”
I commented, “Hmmm, I do?” He smiled and nodded.
Quite often, relativity was for other people. Yet, for me it was a cop-out—an excuse to do less. Or to do it wrong—to not care. Not viewing everything I do as some sort of teamwork for the living. And respect for the dead. Its is Carpe Diem! No matter how bad it feels or you feel. Your job, your existence is pertinent to the ideology of helping the world. To provide a better living for those with you and those after you. That is no matter the relativity in your life. Yes, there are pauses. Those that are not emergencies should be announced. Emergencies are regarded. Even if you’re not.
“Why do people hate—when there is nothing to hate? Like you always do your job. Like you have cared. You’re doing your best? What’s that about? It’s followed me all my life. It sucks.”
He nodded, “You know what your problem is?”
“No. What? Tell me.”
“Those people wanted you to give up. They expected you to fold. To breakdown and cry.”
“The problem is you’re not doing what they would do. Instead, you put on your big girl pants, dust yourself off and act as though you are unaffected.”
“Oh. I pissed them off—did I?”
“Good. Maybe they’ll become something.”
He nodded.---Jody-Lynn Reicher