Listening

Few people truly listen and even fewer are eager to listen.

Happily Confused

Ever since my departure from Chicago - ok, perhaps three moths prior to that - I have posted nothing but melancholic, desperate, I-don't-know-what-the-heck-is-gonna-happen kind of thoughts. Could I keep doing that? Sure! Complaining and feeling sorry for myself feels consolingly good. It's like eating bitter-sweet chocolate...It's not chocolate milk, but it's not sugarless cocoa either.

I've been away for two years and now I find myself back "to the ground." Do I feel weird and out of place? Absolutely. Well, having acknowledged those feelings, I guess I have to make a conscious choice from this point on: Should I just complain and grunt and cry, or should I try to find a positive aspect to all this? I think I'd better choose the last one, I can't afford to be a hypocrite.*

Let's see...hm...hold on...Ah! I think I got it.

IF I actually didn't feel weird and lost, than THAT would be a good reason for me to feel depressed; it would be a sign that I am still the same girl. Think about it: If the feeling of weirdness exists, it's not because the environment I came back to has become drastically different - I am the one who has changed (and boy, have I changed!)

An actual (American) revolution took place within me in the 24 months I spent abroad. I've been insisting on dreading its natural consequences, but not anymore. I have just realized that the best thing to do is accept the mixed feelings and give myself full permission to be happily confused.

*For those of you who don't know, I've been an advocate of positive thinking for a long while.

My Dad

He's always right. Sometimes I can't stand his spiritual wisdom, for it shows me how much of it I lack. For instance, I have much more difficulty practicing what he seems to have mastered with unbearable perfection: "Be honest, be humble, be good, and treat all people with kindness." Easy stuff, right? Well, not really. It would have been easier if I had heard that from the Pope or Madre Teresa. I can't tell my dad "Sorry, I'm only human, I'm not perfect" (which I would otherwise have thought of as perfectly acceptable excuses). It is hard to ignore, without feeling guilty, a father who actually practices what he preaches. That was easier to do when I was a kid; I would listen to him but I wouldn't digest the information. Still, all of that must have managed to go right to my unconscious mind: that's the only explanation I have for the kind of thought processing I've come to develop. Strong morals have been guiding me all along and at the same time, making me feel abnormal in a world where immorality and relativity have become synonymous.

It may sound like I'm complaining, but I'm not. It is true that there were times I wished I had been raised in an ordinary way for the sake of feeling normal, but that's no longer the case. I am extremely fortunate and grateful for being my father's daughter.

Thanks Pa!

1 months and a couple of weeks

Things have been getting better...

I hope that's a tendency rather than an illusion.