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Avoiding Inspiration
Contemplating my best friend’s death at mid-life in the context of daily life
It’s like I’m trying to prove something to myself at the beginning of every year. Or month. Or Monday. I can “get it together” to be the real me. But every fresh start stumbles on a flu bug, or something similar. I’m not going to call it self-sabotage. I’m not going to label it at all. Because this stuttering forward is life, and I am beginning to think that proof of devotion isn’t necessarily found in following the steady path but in the continuous acceptance of unexpected (often undesired) perspectives.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the word “inspirational.” I see it used a lot lately — mainly in connection with (not necessarily in the context of) B.’s situation. The fact of her incurable, inoperable cancer is difficult for strangers to comprehend. From here, it looks like friends pray publicly for a miracle, while her family struggles with acceptance.
There are earnest and loving and kind people trying to squeeze all their empathy into emotive language. While family members seem to be trying to describe their new reality: this is what it is.
I know that some psychiatrists say you have to put words to emotions to understand them. But, words as a path to understanding can also bypass experience. I…
