Taking it in

Way back in 2016, I wrote a blog called "Anger"; even then, the process had started of accepting that I felt some anger at the way my life has turned out, as well as the process of trying to figure out what to do about it. And yet this last week or so took it to a new level, beyond intense. It isn't just about the specifics of my own life; indeed, it may only be about 30% personal. Aspects of world history and current news that in the past I have tried to look at from a higher perspective, suddenly outrage. This is a world that seems to operate the complete opposite of how I operate, but to face how war, violence, a non-love-based economy, and the destruction of the planet really make me feel would previously have completely done me in. I suppose it's an odd credit to how strong I've become that I'm beginning to feel and tolerate my honest feelings, and others'.

There are two major pieces of this that I am trying to at least gently come to terms with. The first is the probability that most occasions when I tried to convince myself I was frustrated, or impatient, or bored, or taking the high road, or seeing something in a better light -- even, at times, when I was trying to be "helpful" or "diplomatic" or "do my duty" -- I may well have been angry. That means I may often have been the very thing that I have always found the hardest to deal with in other people, passive-aggressive. It was entirely unintentional, but then again, passive-aggressiveness probably always is, right? Some past writings in this blog may even have had that quality. Today I can only acknowledge this, not "apologize"; I'm one of those people who has spent a lifetime apologizing, so today I can only just tell the truth the best I can. 

The second thing is the awareness that most of my major life decisions may have been made in anger. The only moment of my life that I can see in a pretty pure light of love is my year at the University of London, 1980-81. People may see this as "nostalgia," but it isn't nostalgia. It's just that more than any other time, I was where I loved to be, singing the music I love to sing, using my intellect to its highest capacity, surrounded by friends, even having opportunities to read and speak French and to travel through the UK and Europe. I was me. I was, for a year, pure love, doing what I love. Unfortunately, I didn't believe a continuation of this stream of love was possible, and almost every step I took from that point on was from a place of, "Since I cannot do what I love, I will do the opposite, and I'll somehow learn to love it." In retrospect, what a set-up for an impossibly twisted mess. I never dealt with the fact that I was angry. I never dealt with the possibility that love could have paved a happier solution, because I didn't believe deep down that I deserved love (and I am not even talking about romance, here). 

So I'm taking it in. I like the fact that I'm a freer person now than I was a few years ago. I feel increasingly free to express what I need to express, even about this hard rebirth, with less beating around the bush. And I feel like some cosmic artist, now free to use the color "anger" in my life painting. Being free to use it, and choosing to use it are two different things, of course. I'm wise enough to understand that the healing of anger will have to come mostly from within, and that the mixing of the color "anger" with other colors could potentially, eventually, create beauty.