I'm not sure where I'm going with this. There are a lot of things bubbling in my mind right now and it might be good to get them out. Even if i never post them.
I'm not one for sympathy. Like most everyone else on this planet, I've had my share of downs. I've been to my rock bottom. I know what it feels like to give up hope -- hope for myself, hope for the world, hope for any shred of sunlight in an abyss that just keeps getting darker.
But, also like most people, I've picked myself up.
(The expression is, "picked myself up by the bootstraps," but I only wear flip flops, otherwise known as "thongs." Thus, I could say that I picked myself up by the thong. But that brings another type of "thong" to mind, and in reality I would never want my body weight to be suspended by that latter type of thong. That's just not right. )Anyway,
I know how to heal myself, is what I'm getting at. And lately, I've actually been making some pretty amazing breakthroughs as far as getting my heart in the right place is concerned -- letting go of hatred that I was sure would be with me for the rest of my life. Hatred that I was actually using as an armor, the viciousness of which I took mild pride in. (Enough of that. Different post. Moving on.)So things have been going quite well.
And today I learned that my sixty-five-year-old father has about two options in his life right now:
work himself into another heart attack (he owns a business that is physically labor-intensive and can't afford to hire an employee),
or cut his losses and move back in with my mom, essentially penniless. (They're still married, it's just tough for them to live in close quarters. Long story.)
My mom has a decent job, but not enough to support the two of them. And of course he has no retirement to fall back on.
It hurts me, as a child, to see a parent going through this. I mean, I'm not a child in age. At thirty-six, I have my own house and am able to live decently with all my animals and the typical expenses.
A huge part of me feels tremendously guilty for not having earned more money, enough so that he wouldn't have to go through this. Of course, he wouldn't accept handouts from his daughter out of pride, and I get that. But if I had an excess -- like a silly amount of excess, say a million or more -- then I could spin it as "family money" and it would be shared equally.
So I sit here, generally happy with my life and they way things are going, and feel completely selfish for it.
Is my life the only one that matters?
Just because I don't need a lot of money to enjoy my life, does that mean I shouldn't continue to strive for more so that I might help others?
It is terrifying to think of starting from zero at sixty-five years old. Terrifying.
And here I sit, comfortably in my house while my own father, the man who raised me, is suddenly forced to face that exact nightmare scenario. And I can do nothing to help.
It upsets me that so much of this world revolves around money. And it upsets me to think that my general removal from that environment -- while wonderful for me -- might be detrimental to someone else, especially someone close to me.
I never thought about it like that.
I never considered the potential downside of a simple life: that my choice to own less would leave someone else with less -- someone who didn't choose that and who doesn't want that.
I didn't intend on making this a post.
It's long-winded and boring and not humorous and there are no cute pictures (okay, that baby is kinda cute) . Exactly the opposite of what I tend to do instinctively.
I like being positive and I like to make people smile.
But every now and then things happen that whack the positivity right out of my brain like a slow-motion boxer's punch to the jaw -- like with the spit flying and smooshed face and everything.
There. A cute picture.
(source)
Anyway, I'm going for it. It's on the blockchain now and everyone (or at least the few who read this) will see my slightly more serious side. My gushing feelies-post. Eeek.
!steemitworldmap 29.9955 lat -98.0986 long Wimberley, Texas d3scr