And I’m wondering why my first impulse is stabbing people. As I consider, it is because I was under sustained emotional attack from both of my parents all my youth, and extending unto now. That is a deep template in me. I don’t trust people.
But this is the trick, isn’t it? The art of life is the art of living with people, of finding happiness with them, in their company. And we Americans are not terribly good at that. We don’t do “familia” very well.
I don’t want to be the one to solve these problems. I want all my problems to be solved miraculously. I want love to suddenly emerge and care for me, to salve my wounds, to care for me, listen to me, heal me.
I see, though, that I am the only one who can do that. It all starts with loving yourself, and you cannot love yourself if you treat the world with violence. It comes with kindness, with knowing you are a trustworthy, decent person.
And as far as my kids, I gave to them, but did my best not to take, and I think it worked.