Reality is a funny mistress to deal with. Self-reflection is a bitch.
I always thought I was kind, caring, compassionate.
Well.. sometimes, I’m not. And sometimes, I’m not kind OR caring OR compassionate or any combination of those lovely characteristics to the people I love most. In fact, sometimes I get frustrated at their problems. Because clearly, mine are so much important.
My dad sick. WHY CAN’T YOU PICK ME UP?
My mom tired. WHY DIDN’T YOU DO THIS COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS FAVOUR FOR ME?
My boyfriend complaining about life problems. WHY DON’T YOU PAY ATTENTION TO ME?
And I’m usually self-aware about these awful reactions. I know I’m doing this. Sometimes, I think like a dickhole. And that needs to stop. So I’m going to willfully stop it, because I get no pleasure from their egotistic focus on me. I do get pleasure when I focus on their problems and I feel as though I’ve actually helped them by hearing them out.
So here’s my solution: I will be less a dickhole, and more a writer. More a person that I see myself being.
Isolating yourself in Me-World will never be comforting, even if others’ problems do seem less important. It is always better to listen. It is always better to understand someone’s situation than to rave about the unfairness of a world not revolving around one’s self. If I do not strengthen my legs, or my core, then I will crumble. It’s the first rule of architecture; it’s the first rule of yoga; it’s the first rule of love, and empathy.