Somewhere recently I read that in order to be credible as a writer, you need to reveal your faults or somehow share that you ARE human, things can upset you, not everything "comes up roses".
Well, as I said to my friend the other day when she was regaling me with a list of things she was doing for her employer for little or no compensation, "this is not the time of year to be pissed off!"
But, here goes, for the sake of credibility.
Things that "piss me off" (more politely put, "irritate me" but if I'm going there, I might as well, well, go there.
1. the "wrong number recording" you know the one that's been violating your ear drums for 50+ years. It begins with 3 very high pitched, unpleasant tones, then says "the number you have reached, 888-8888 is not a working number..."
OK, I'm already upset that I misdialed, how about a sweet trill of a bird or a cello saying, so sorry...
If anyone out there reading this has any pull, I would bake you a decadent chocolate torte with chocolate ganache and fresh rasberries if we could get this changed.
2. reality tv Coming from someone who rarely watches any TV other than sports or a good movie, I do understand the desire to watch something silly or purely fun after a hard day, take your mind to a different place, escape, but some of the programming insults our intelligence as humans.... really.
3. road raged drivers when I make a mistake and get into the wrong lane, it really is not helpful to have someone pull alongside and give me the finger and honk their horn. I'm already holding myself accountable, not pleased that I made the error! Do you really think that I was purposely trying to ruin your day?
Three is enough I think, who wants to dwell on these things? I had to work to come up with them. I just cannot end a post with whining.
The words of Socrates:
“The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new."
This time of year holds thoughts of promise, love, giving, kindness. I hope you enjoy this treasure of a poem as much as I did.
by Naomi Shihab Nye
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.