Life Isn't Always Kind

This was a line in a movie I saw recently called Another Year. This was an absolute masterpiece in my opinion. I was so moved. I'm not going to highlight any specific scenes for you. Just see it. I want to write about other things just now.

Life isn't always kind. This is very true. My life has been so kind so often. I was born to two amazingly good and gorgeous people who stayed in love. I shared my childhood with especially effervescent personalities, gorgeous faces, exceptional talents of all shapes and kinds. I got a great education in both academic and not-so-academic ways, graduated from a wonderful university, studied exactly what I wanted to, got the job I wanted immediately, worked with the very people I would've hand picked to work with. Life has been very kind indeed.

Then, at other times, life hasn't been so kind. It kicked and punched me on the playground. It called me mean names and threw sand in my eyes. Then later it broke my heart a few times, twisted some tendons, slapped my face a little. Got poisoned a fair amount; mostly voluntarily...unfortunately. I became addicted to some of the wrong things: the approval of others, feeling numb, cigarettes, and Woody Allen, to name a few. I got engaged a lot, too. That was interesting, if not heart-wrenching. Then I really did it! Tied the knot! To someone who hated me twice as much as he loved his action figures. You do the math.

Life is not always kind. Then there was not only the math but the aftermath. Year one: numb, floating feeling, fuzzy, pretty pleasant. Year two: lots of pain, acute, searing, crying in the car because I heard that song, having to sit down at the grocery store because the label on the tuna can triggered that memory. Year three: pretty dang normal, almost, sort of, I mean, all considered. Year four: Ouchie....I need intervention post haste. Year five: Great! Paxil, will you marry me? (no response...just a wink. for some reason it's enough.)

As we approach year six, I see a lot to be grateful for. Maybe I'll stop calculating time the way I have, years post divorce. Maybe it's a new age? It's not the golden age. Not enough earned yet. Maybe it's the age of fleece, not golden fleece, mind you. No. Pink. Pink fleecy blankets. The age of pink, blue, mint green, lily yellow. Here we go, baby. Buckle up.