It was striking, tonight, to see such an open presentation of brokeness. I don't mean it in any derogatory way, but rather a kind of open vulnerability that played out in unusual ways and left me not with a lack of empathy but a sad recognition that this, THIS, is the state of the species H. Sapiens. Has it always been thus?
Does the pain we manifest remain a constant in other places and other times? I wondered what it might have been like 100 years ago, just here, in this land. Before Welbutrin and the flock of anxiety, pain, alleviating substances.
Things like this give me pause.
I'm reminded in my shallowlands of my own quick judgements of others, not this weakness - I have that too - but my tendency to see the sometimes obvious limitations.
But mostly I am saddened, frustrated, feeling like I need to try and reach others here, to pull them past this awful ditch they are trapped in. To remind them that they can step past it if they WANT to.
And then I remember: I can't do any of that. It's not my place. And I can't alter trajectories.... even when I deeply want to.
All I can do is be the best person I can, and quietly listen, see if there is anything I can share of myself that might bring a spark of good, relief, to another.
It feels so... short.
