Solitary Universe

Thanksgiving has passed, and the holiday season is looming on the horizon.  As she contemplates wreaths and wrapping paper and festive decorations, Herself is also mentally preparing for the onslaught of Christmas and its accompanying social and familial get-togethers.  She finds holidays in general to be emotionally taxing:  so many people; so many expectations about what should be done and which presents should be given and with or to whom  and when.  Sigh.

As part of her mental housekeeping, Herself is reading a book lent to her by an acquaintance.  She was a bit skeptical at first; all pop-culture psychology books should be taken with a giant grain of salt.  Nevertheless, it is striking home in an unexpected way.  Sentences, paragraphs, examples might have been written specifically about/for her.  Her sensitivity to criticism, her inability to ask for help, her aversion to any form of confrontation, her difficulty in assessing the validity of her feelings, her fear of abandonment, and her need to look after other people, all interrelated and explained.  They all have the same root.  Validation and understanding, coming together in a bittersweet way.

Herself has always believed that if she tried hard enough, if she did all the right things in just the right way,  if she were quiet and did not rock the boat or need or ask for anything, if she were patient and caring and giving enough, that others would love her and look after her in return.

Not so.

People cannot somehow be magically inspired or willed to behave in particular ways, no matter how hard one tries.  They are who they are. They have their own goals and desires; strengths and blessings; weaknesses and fallibilities. They do the best they can with what they have been given. Each person is his or her own solitary Universe.

We cannot change others; we can only change ourselves.  And if we let go of what cannot be, we can be free.

It is hard, letting go.

I do not want what I cannot have.