Itching to find a reason to be dissatisfied, I’ve plunged into any opportunity of well, now I feel uncomfortable to be angry with him. Basically, he wouldn’t be able to say (or probably do!) anything right because I don’t want to accept the reality of our circumstances.
Suddenly it occurred to me: We don’t have time to be offended.
If I learned that I was going to die in 26 days, would I spend those days wallowing in sadness and sorrow, grieving what I wouldn’t be able to change; or, would I decide to live my life to the fullest, enjoying every single moment of opportunity I had left?
This is a sort of death, ya know? The Death of Us. And while that seems melodramatic, when is Ego not melodramatic? So it totally fits the criteria for said title. In that case, I reasoned, this is a gift. I get to love him with all of my heart; I get to spend so much time loving him before we kick the bucket.
And while this isn’t ideal for what I imagined would be best for me, or us, what do I know? If I were in charge, many of the things I have already gone through wouldn’t have even been options — for.real.
In her book A Mind at Home with Itself, Byron Katie said, “The worst thing that can happen always turns out to be the best thing that can happen.” When I reflect on all the worst things that could have happened to me (according to me at the time), they were always the best things that could have happened. They were always, never not, the greatest catalysts for unprecedented growth.
So I welcome this coming and presumed horror with open arms knowing and trusting that it will only chisel away more and more of what doesn’t serve me.
And I will love until the cows come home (and then further than that).