Despite my tendency toward ascerbic humor and wise-assedness – there has always been a part of me that is trusting and guileless (long may she live). So, it is always a suprise when life bitch slaps me in the face and screams, “Open your eyes, you idiot!”
Oh no, I don’t want to look, there, I think. Please, just go away and leave me to my bubble. It’s so nice and insulated here, can’t you just please leave me alone?
Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. Sometimes, my big bubble is burst on a daily basis and sometimes in a big and most alarming way. A way so obvious and looming that I simply cannot live in the State of Denial any longer. (And really, have you been to the State of Denial? It’s gorgeous, peaceful, has very low taxes and crime rates and is very affordable.)
But…as usual, I digress…
Recently, I’ve had a couple of big bubble bursts (the details of which aren’t neccesary to enumerate here) and a really surprising thing happened: It didn’t destroy my world. I didn’t have to retire to my bed with the woe-is-me-flu and a bottle of Advil. In truth, I’m taking it all pretty calmly .
I don’t know how, where or when, but I’ve come to see that one person, event or even tragedy does not bring my world to a heart-stopping end. No. It doesn’t. It can sure muck up the works sometimes but I’ve got plenty of 409, so clean up isn’t that hard to accomplish.
And while it might be a pain in the ass or worse, a pain in the heart, I know that, this too shall pass.
Maybe I’ve just realized that every one of us have our own special brand of hell – and it’s the thing that binds us, rather than separates us. That my pain is not more special than others’, nor is misery my exclusive real estate but rather a commune in which we all have a timeshare.
A surprise, shock and horror to the little bubble does suck, but it only destroys you if you let it. Don’t let it.