There Are Some People

There are some people that I will "never be good enough for."  I am too political or not political enough.  Obsessed with recovery or working a lousy program.  Over-involved or distant.  Co-dependent or too independent.  Intense or dull.  A bitter atheist or not enough of an atheist.  A dam liar or too honest.  And so on, ad nauseum.  Oh well.

Not everyone wishes me well.  Not everyone has to.  I don't wish everyone well and I don't have to.  Nathaniel Branden  taught me this:  
        " 'Loving everyone' sounds suspiciously like spiritual
           promiscuity--the abandonment of all standards."

Some years ago, a call went out for volunteers in my hometown to sign up to answer calls for a get help phone line.  I signed up.  The woman with the clipboard made a remark to some people next to her something to the effect that I was too whacked out to do this.  Consequently, I never did get any calls from that particular phone line.  Oh well.  Two similar phone lines in two other counties did add my number to their answering service.  To this day, once in awhile I still get calls for help from them.  I've learned to go where I am wanted.  

Not everyone wants or needs my help today.  Ninety nine percent of people don't and they are doing just fine without my ideas and opinions.  I don't want everyone's help either.  I like pears and I want to have pear trees.  Most of the folks up here have apple orchards.  Even if they mutter about how pears suck, I don't have to bad-mouth apples.  Because I want to grow pears and not apples, I will get with successful growers of pears.  If I want what they got, I will do what they do.  I want pears so I will seek out people who know about growing pear trees, not people who know about growing apple trees.  

Self-esteem is about self and steam.  Self-esteem is not based upon some deity's esteem for me.  Nor is it based upon the esteem of others for me.  Rock stars can have bunches of cheerleaders yet some of them still self-destruct.  It's nice to have the approval of one's deity, if that is what one wants.  It's nice to have fans gathering around cheering one on.  But those things are not enough.  If they were enough, there would be no need for personal growth.  We would never have to grow up.

There are some people that I will "never be good enough for."  I have to be good enough for my self.

sapphoq on life   

Dear Maria

Dear Maria,

I've thought about you very little throughout the years.  You gave off the air of being pristine.  You played basketball.  You knew how to be social.  You were an A student.  Your family was perfect.

My family wasn't.  And I was none of those things that you were.

Remember that trip we took to the ocean in Advanced Biology class?  We all slept in small beds in one large dorm.  We cooked out, fed the sea gulls on the beach, did something or other for biology class although I've forgotten what now.  I swam across the bay.  "Like a fish," is what the teacher said.  I can still swim like that.  Long distances with deliberate strokes.  Built for distance but not speed.

I remember your nightgown.  It was white and lacy.  We were all talking before bed one night.  I said I was glad to be away from my mother that weekend.  I was.  "I miss my mother," you said firmly and loudly.  "Well, I don't," I said.  "It's nice to be away."  We were only gone for three and a half days.  I'd already been traveling on my own.  I took buses to visit relatives for a week or two at a time.  I took trains to places that to this day I've never told my mother about.  I was and still am a traveler.  I was forced to be independent, to entertain myself, at times to provide for myself.

You hadn't been forced to do any of those things.  My mother drank rather well.  She married her drinking buddy the second time around.  You had a perfect family.  You had a mother that you were able to miss.  I didn't.  

Did it occur to you to ask why I didn't miss my mother?  Did it occur to you that by your upbringing you were privileged?  You were.  You stank with privilege.

It's years later now.  I am envious.  Yes.  My imagination tells me that yours was the easier softer life.  I don't want to be you.  Don't misunderstand me.  I think I could have gotten used to a life that wasn't so full of abuse.  I could have gotten used to your life.

We were young then.  I was a long distance swimmer.  You were the future.  You were somebody even then.  You could not fail.  You did not fail.  You excelled.  You succeeded.  You memorized the script and you delivered.  I was only a long distance swimmer with a mother that I was not able to miss.

If you ever read this, please don't bother trying to find me.  I am not interested.  What kind of conversation could we have now anyway? I would want to talk about class-ism.  You would want to talk about your wonderful mother aging.

This is not a pity party.  This is reality.  Anger is my truest friend.  The isms keep society sick.  I am rising above and beyond.  I am a long distance swimmer.  I am sister and brother to the flotsam in the bay.

See ya,

sapphoq on life