Mostly I have recovered from my mid-night tirade about the BUX. I do love my customers. I am compassionate to their individual needs; I suppose that is why I would never say the things I sometimes think. I would love to get to the point where I am disciplined enough to be immediately compassionate.Now, if I could just get to the point where I don’t even think those things. Maybe I was supposed to be a desert-dwelling nun, or a hippie. Maybe I was both in former lives. I told Becs the other day that I was going to drop out of society, maybe buy a VW bus and live wherever it breaks down. She asked me: “Do you know how bored you would get?” I don’t think I would get bored. I am very self-entertaining. I can spend hours with myself.
Do you know how freeing it is to be able to just read and contemplate? I love having time to meet with people, read, think, write, and just be alone with God. Part if my contemplative adventure, right now, is to learn the art of compassion: to rid my body of anger. I don’t want to think the worst about people but the best: I want to give of myself freely. I don’t want to be the person that assumes, but I am. I assume the worst.
I am coming out: I am a pessimist.
I prefer the term realist. But I am a pessimist.
At best I am a cynic. I had a professor in seminary that once told me there are worse things than being a cynic: at least a cynic cares. “You could just be apathetic like a lot of people,” he said. He is the only facet of seminary that I truly miss.
Reason Breeds Insanity 