It’s OKay to feel anger.
Anger is not your enemy.
But it can be your enemy if you act under it.
Anger is to feel. Completely. Recognize it. Embrace it. Understand why. Learn from it. Don’t react, not yet. Instead, let it inspire you to act. And then release it in a safe way and let it go.
And, then act.
With the anger experience in mind, but away from your system. Thinking about it clearly. Wisely.
Because anger is one of those emotions that is designed to be felt, to feel fueled by so it can inspire you to fight. For a cause, for your own interests, for yourself.
And when you get that, your anger no longer owns you; you own your anger.
That is when it gets easier to take the next step, to act with the right mind and heart set. With kind. Compassion. Deep breaths. Love. To yourself and others.
Disappointed I am. With some people, some Zen, supposedly caring people, healers even, who are taking this whole quarantine-pandemic in a complete wrong, selfish way. People who should know better and act better.
But they don’t.
Currently, in the middle of so much pain and sorrow, they are more concerned about their lack of “freedom “, the imposed restrictions, the uncomfortable use of masks and the impossibility of going out just like it used to be.
And others are taking way too light the restrictions of social distancing and the quarantine mode, going out and about, just because, not for the essential.
Yep, life is currently interrupted. At least, the way we knew it. And it really sucks, but life is interrupted in the attempt of stopping the virus to spread, to give time to doctors and nurses to take care of everybody who might need care. Life is interrupted to save lives, the most we possibly can. Because lives do matter, regardless the age, health condition, race, gender and status quo. And they should be our first and main focus. And we should do our very best, our part to stop this damn pandemic. If we handle it correctly, everything else will follow. And bit by bit we will all return to our lives as we knew it. Hopefully with great lessons learned and applied, with more compassion and kindness in our actions, with focus on what it really matters, appreciating the ones we love and spending more time, a good time with them.
But that is just a hope. A wishful thinking. Because when I look at those people who as I said should know better and act better and the way they are approaching this whole crisis (and I am not even tackling the conspiracy theories they are firmly believing in) I can’t help thinking that yep, life will return to its normal self, but not with improved beings or even an improved reality. Not this time around. Not yet.
Because even people who should know better and act better are not.
And although this is not a surprise, it’s unfortunate.
And highly disappointing.
Yesterday, early in the morning, out of nowhere it came to me that it was an ex-boyfriend’s birthday. My last boyfriend. He actually was not a real boyfriend just someone I was starting to know. The whole experience was not a smooth one, because we lived our “romance” for most of its brief time a Continent apart. And since I am not the best when the subject is keeping in touch via messages, videos, texting… I guess at some point he thought I was losing interest in him. But I was not. I was just being me, the antisocial me, the person who sucks in keeping in touch. Or to keep any relationship, to be fair.
So when we reunited al last, he ditched me. With distance and then words in a message. Still don’t know why exactly, but I let him go. Easily. Not because I was no longer interested in trying but because I realized I didn’t like the version of him that didn’t like me. That simple.
And yet, that hard.
We moved on, in different directions and up to this moment our paths haven’t crossed. And I don’t think it ever will. Because that is what happens every time with me and my relationships. They only last till they last. And when it’s over it doesn’t become something else, just a nothing.
And that is the tuff part for me; this nothing afterwards. Because all my exes or most of them were keepers, men that I would like to keep around, in my life. Not for sex or any romantic innuendo but as a friend or at least someone that somehow would still be part of my life, even if sporadically. To talk, laugh here and there, over a coffee. Or a tea.
It’s not because we are no longer in love or falling in love that we couldn’t keep in touch. At least for me. For them it seems an impossible task. When it’s over it’s like I got a terrible contagious disease and they feel as if they need to be far away from me. As far as they can. It’s a matter of life and death.
Dramatic but true. And that is how endings like that makes me feel. A failure. Worthless. Nothing.
Just someone who never had a bad, sore breakup does believe that the first impressions are the ones that remain. In this case, it’s not. It’s that last sad, ugly, sore memory of that melancholic breakup that will stick with you, that will flavor the whole story with its bitterness, regardless the story you had before it. Because when you look back and recall the story, it’s not the good silly times we had together, the way our conversation flew as if we were best friends for years and years, the way he knew how to put a big smile in my face that will come up. All of it is vanished and what remains is how bitter and sour was that ending. How horrible it made you feel. And it’s impossible not to think that that story deserved a better end. Not necessarily happily ever after, but a much better one. I deserved better. You deserved better. We deserved better.
Would then this and other love stories with bad endings be in vain, I wonder?
It sure does feel like that, but then again love is love. And love, regardless the ending, is never, ever in vain.