Optimism is not always enough. It helps, but sometimes, I just want things to go easy for a bit. If I knew that a single moment of trusting someone could lead to a lifetime of struggle, I would not have been so trusting, or at least not so generous with my trust.
But spilled milk and water under bridges offer no comfort. They only offer resolve. The resolve to move on rather than to stare pointlessly at the mishaps of my life. So I move on, each time with hope and optimism, each time having the wind knocked out of my sails, constantly reminded of how much easier it would be if only…if only they played their part..or they appreciated what they had…or they gave more and didn’t just take all the time…or…if only they honoured their trust, as much as I try to honour mine.
But that’s when I’m reminded of the poison of self-pity. That loathsome indulgence of focusing on how bad I have it, while growing bitter at those who consciously and unknowingly contribute towards my straitened state. Sometimes deliberately, but most times obliviously.
The trials of life are visited on those who are most aware of the human struggle of those around them. It compels one to be more gracious, more understanding, and more forgiving towards the shortcomings of those who do not do their fair share in our lives. But principle dictates that we do not abandon our station because in so doing, we contribute towards that very condition of theirs that subsequently weighs us down. That’s how we become part of the problem, when we abandon the burden of being part of the solution.
The relentless charge of life felt exciting in youth, but exhausting in my later years. There are days when I feel hopeful and passionate, with purpose and ambition. And there are days when I feel like remembering to hydrate is a life-sucking chore. The only thing that changes between the two is my indulgence in self-pity, or in my fixation on what is owed to me.
At such times, I remind myself that this world was created for respite, not for justice. What we give, will rarely be received in equal measure. Therefore, we must find a joy other than the expression of gratitude, or reciprocation, if we hope to sustain the very essence that breathes life into our waking hours.
It is the gratitude of who I am that I lose sight of, before the challenges begin to take their toll on me. I’m most weighed down when I look longingly at a significant other, waiting for a sign of sincere gratitude for, or at the least, understanding of what it takes for me to persevere beyond what has already transpired in my life. It is that pause for such validation that begins the slip into that soulless space of ingratitude, and of being left feeling wanting after exhausting my spirit in the service of those around me.
I think death will approach when picking myself up from that space will feel like a trial too many, or an investment too daunting in hope that is forever fleeting. On the balance, I am human, and I am needy of that balance that is only found in being appreciated by another. Not by any other, but by one who sees me, and not the tokens of who I am. One who sees the scars and bruises that tear at my being, each time I rise to face another round of brutal conflict with my demons, and the demons of those around me. It is only the loving gaze of one who sees all this of me, and more, that will ever set the scales in balance for this life to feel like a trial worth overcoming.
In the absence of such an embrace, it all feels dutifully empty. Without purpose beyond the belief that there is purpose in it. And the only motivation to persevere being the belief in the value of what I wish to create. Not even for the awaiting reward of what I’m doing. Because, if I believe the promise of my Lord to be true, to be rewarded for even an atom’s worth of good that I may do, then doing it with the reward in mind would be doubting the promise of my Lord.
I therefore act with conviction when I’m grateful for my ability to create value in the lives of those I meet, knowing that the One who blessed me with this ability, is more generous than any reward that I may expect in return.
Perhaps this is the reminder that I need to push on when I feel weighed down. It is the transactional life that steals our passion long before the trial itself. I must take more time to reflect on how transactional my life has become.