Although difficult, for me, running against the wind is instinctive. I wanted to be the peaceful type full of hope and pink ponies and optimism; but ever since I can remember, I’ve taken rough back roads instead of flowing along with crowds down pristine super highways. I’m not a glass half empty woman any more than I’m a glass half full one. For me, there’s water in a glass that has plenty room for more.
As a child, I used to groan under my breath at family gatherings when the topic for discussion shifted to the elders’ perception of change. The word change, it seemed, was interchangeable with self-indulgence and destruction. “The younger generation is going to bring about the end of everything we’ve built and cast the world over the cliff into a hungry abyss that will swallow it whole.” Blah. Blah. Blah.
About this time I would generally inch my way toward the back door, planning escape. I wish I’d listened more when I was young, paid more attention. I wish I’d been more respectful of the process of wisdom gathering, opinion formation and varying styles of perception. These are skills that come to fruition with aging, but I didn’t get it and I was really quite arrogant about it all, shaking my head at the gloom and doom old fools I left in the living room worrying about the future of the planet. It never entered my mind they were worrying about my life, what the realities would be in the wake of monumental change following the Great Depression and World War 2.
However, my perspective shifted noticeably when I crossed the 60 year line myself as I struggled with unsettling feelings of semi-bitterness for the rapid fire changes that had beset a world I was no longer familiar with and often uncomfortable in.
Those were emotionally exhausting days spent holding myself back, or propelling forward like rotted chicken catapulted from a giant sling shot. And once again, arrogance, as I assumed my way was somehow the best way, often better even than the steady voices of men and women of peace, or the predictions of masterful economic minds, or the advice offered by strategic planners, or the exaggerated threats from political movers, and the woeful forecasts of intellectual shakers. I was so full of righteous indignation I felt bloated and dour and sad.
Watching a friend lose her way in extraterrestrial philosophies and questionable directives from guides from the other side, I paused long enough to reevaluate my own beliefs and deal, face to face, with the inflexible judge I had become.
It was a process.
Just as in childhood, I found myself inching once again toward the back door in an attempt to purge poisons I carried inside. I thought, ‘perhaps if I fill my lungs with fresh air, or eat an apple in the swing on the front porch, or pick a bouquet of Black-Eyed Susans,’ I might feel better’. And so I did all of those things and more, binding myself more closely with the cycles of nature and the rhythmic beat of my own heart , mindful of the emotional and mental chaos I’d created in the past and how unsatisfying the experience had been.
I won’t say I killed the judge inside my soul, but I let her fade away. I am an observer now; judging nothing, not even myself.
When I choose to watch the evening news and hear the ranting and ravings of judgmental zealots, a sense of calm fills my senses, and I feel the good intentions and the fear inside each loud voice. I make mental notes about where they are standing, which audience they are addressing, the time of day they speak, lapel pins, the shapes of glasses they wear, and the voices of reporters trying to make names for themselves.
Adults are often little more than large children and that can go either way because a child can engage or detach as he sees fit, but when all of the pieces of the puzzle come together, it is a magnificent occasion.
These days I spend more time paying attention to what other people say. I love hearing their ideas and opinions; I love reading what they are thinking and how they disseminate unique perspectives and personal views. I learn so much as I immerse myself in both studied and unexplored concepts. More and more, I spend time reading non-fiction, opinion pieces, and most especially blogs. The passion and sincerity bloggers express touches my heart.
Every time I experience the strength of another person’s voice, my own grows; but I’m not in love with the sound of my own voice. My own opinions don’t impress me either. I often find it difficult to express them now. Blogging has become more challenging as I struggle to share without preaching. I’ve learned that listening is an integral part of observation. So is keeping an open mind. The boundaries of my perceptions have seeped or bled into the fluidity of the times freeing my mind to explore new possibilities. I’m happy that I don’t feel responsible for the fate of the entire world. I am finally comfortable in my own skin and at peace with the ever evolving world around me.
ittymac 
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