Ouch

We were made to bleed
and scab
and heal
and bleed again
-- Ani Difranco

I hate that feeling that accompanies someone’s failure to recognize the goodness and value of my friends and family. The teacher who feels compelled to clip my kid’s imagination, the boyfriend who could never never deserve my roommate, the employer that devalues the towering level of competence my friend brings to the task.

Who hasn’t had one of these phone call or couch conversations with someone you love? One where you looked at their slouched shoulders, listened to that sad mumble from their mouth.

The clarity you have from the outside of this sadness can’t penetrate it. Sure, you can state the obvious: the bootcamp ethos of the teacher, the algae goo dwelling in that boyfriend's heart, the mediocre ass-backwards of the workplace...but the timing is all wrong. Sitting on my couch, or cradling the telephone I am befuddled by how seldom the daily work we take on is appreciated. More than our deeds we have this enormous capacity to love, to inspire, to create. What is more amazing than that? What could be more admirable? What are we to make of the often occurence of being scrutinized, blamed, or battered by the critic du jour? Who hasn't sat on both sides of this sad scene?

And the worst part is that, love you as I do, I can't fix it. I’ve got Kleenex, and a couple of zings for the offender but I can’t fix it. The pain has to run its course. Eventually the person dries their eyes, and emerges on the other side of this - they graduate the grade, ditch the boyfriend, locate the office supply stash at some new job.

But in that moment, when everything hurts, its hard to believe that the essence of a person, for lack of a more exact term, the spirit is a vast and renewable resource. It gets all of us through. Sad or lost as you might feel, sweetheart, you just have to wait for it.