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Feb. 21st, 2003 11:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
johnpalmerOn a good day, when my heart was filled with love, and my head was clear (i.e.: undepressed):
I think that, if a child gave me a scribbled drawing, saying "I made this for you", it would be a beautiful picture.
I think that if a child tried to clean up a mess, even it was a bigger mess afterwards, it'd touch my heart deeply.
I think that if a child sang me an off-key, nonsense song, it'd bring a huge smile to my face, and I'd say that the child sang beautifully.
I was reading a Live Journal entry, and a thought came to me.
If you love yourself, as dearly as you might love a child who earnestly and happily tries to be nice to you, you should accept your limitations and faults, as easily as you'd accept the limitations and faults of that child.
And, as angry as you'd be at a nasty critic who'd hurt the feelings of children who are doing their best, I think you should be that angry at the internal critics who'd do the same thing to you.
So if you wanted to sing a song, for yourself, and stopped, embarrassed at how terrible you'd sound - even if no one was listening - maybe it's time to turn a sharp eye at the voice that told you not to sing. Maybe it's time to say "don't you *dare*! I don't care if it's the worst singing of the worst song in the world; you have no business hurting that person's feelings! *I* wanted to hear that song, sung out of sheer happiness, and a desire to make *me* happy as well!"
It's not just singing, of course... there's a lot in life where folks end up not giving themselves the same break that they'd give to someone else they loved, who they believed was doing their best.
I hope, the next time I hear the self-critic starting up, I'll be as ready to protect myself from unwarranted nastiness as I would be ready to protect another. I hope the same holds for everyone who reads this, who has their own nasty self-critic.
I think that, if a child gave me a scribbled drawing, saying "I made this for you", it would be a beautiful picture.
I think that if a child tried to clean up a mess, even it was a bigger mess afterwards, it'd touch my heart deeply.
I think that if a child sang me an off-key, nonsense song, it'd bring a huge smile to my face, and I'd say that the child sang beautifully.
I was reading a Live Journal entry, and a thought came to me.
If you love yourself, as dearly as you might love a child who earnestly and happily tries to be nice to you, you should accept your limitations and faults, as easily as you'd accept the limitations and faults of that child.
And, as angry as you'd be at a nasty critic who'd hurt the feelings of children who are doing their best, I think you should be that angry at the internal critics who'd do the same thing to you.
So if you wanted to sing a song, for yourself, and stopped, embarrassed at how terrible you'd sound - even if no one was listening - maybe it's time to turn a sharp eye at the voice that told you not to sing. Maybe it's time to say "don't you *dare*! I don't care if it's the worst singing of the worst song in the world; you have no business hurting that person's feelings! *I* wanted to hear that song, sung out of sheer happiness, and a desire to make *me* happy as well!"
It's not just singing, of course... there's a lot in life where folks end up not giving themselves the same break that they'd give to someone else they loved, who they believed was doing their best.
I hope, the next time I hear the self-critic starting up, I'll be as ready to protect myself from unwarranted nastiness as I would be ready to protect another. I hope the same holds for everyone who reads this, who has their own nasty self-critic.
no subject
Date: 2003-03-01 02:09 am (UTC)LiveJournal is such a strange place. I was looking at the information for a friend of a friend, and I saw that they had 'johnpalmer' linked. "Huh. I wonder..." And so I looked. And I found this, and I read it, and just these few lines here were so YOU that I had to read everything, like some creepy voyeur.
It made me think about being fifteen, and learning how to roll dice -- and being sixteen, and trying to learn calculus -- and being seventeen, and STILL trying to learn calculus -- and being eighteen, and being a stark raving ass. Then I thought of the Realm of Chaos and Ranma and your chili -- God, you have no idea how much I miss your chili.
And then I thought about the last thing you said to me, at Bill and Rosie's wedding -- you told me how brave I was, and that you were proud of me. That was when I started to cry.
I'm sorry that I've forgotten my calculus. That feels like I've failed you, somehow. I'm sorry that I've forgotten how to keep in touch. I'm sorry. For so many things.
I just wanted to let you know that even your memory is still one of the dearest friends I've ever had. Thank you for that.
Amy
no subject
Date: 2003-04-24 07:50 pm (UTC)And feel that all-too-normal "you forgot something important that you didn't want to forget" feeling.
I hope you have email notifications turned on, so I don't have to decide which email address to try.
And I hope you know, deep down somewhere, that I never stop loving people... so I still love you. Love changes, and finds the best type of love that fits, but it doesn't end. I still remember you, warmly and fairly often, and wish the 'far off place' you'd moved to was in the Pacific Northwest, rather than "down south".
(Erm... what with "never stop loving", and all, this isn't a "I'm pining for you" letter, just a "boy, wouldn't it be neat, now that I moved to Seattle, to find someone I'd lost track of had moved here too!" )
I hope things are going really well for you.
no subject
Date: 2003-04-24 09:59 pm (UTC)It's good to hear from you. Really, really good. Thanks.