Skip to main content

Entitlement

   I think one of the most beautiful things about being a human being is the idea of entitlement. I know the word is usually used for people of higher monetary standing and pretentiousness, but the fact still remains that all humans are entitled. All humans...both the thief and the owner, both the student and the teacher, both the rapist and the victim, both the logger and the activist. All humans. All humans are entitled to their feelings and emotions. 
   I used extreme examples, because I believe it is important to allow everyone to feel and think what they do. It was Voltaire who said, "I may disagree with what you have to say, but I shall defend to the death your right to say it." This goes for all. I lastly talked about disconnect and the art of sucking at communication, and I think this goes hand in hand. Sometimes, when I get upset or angry or sad or any other emotion, I expect the world to acknowledge and fix me. Yeah, yeah...talk about entitlement! But, I am learning and will continue to learn that the world owes me nothing. But when I feel an emotion, I feel it, and I mentally engage with that emotion. Sometimes so much that I have talked up a mountain from a molehill. 
   However, I have more often than not, allowed the other person/people involved to feel the same or different emotion. I learned once that we are only responsible for our reactions. A reaction is an action to something: a thought, a word, a person, a place...in essence a noun. And we are only responsible for the action we take against that other action. We can't control anyone else but ourselves, and the quicker we learn this (the quicker I learn this) the better off we (I) will be. 
   My entitlement is this: I deserve to feel any emotion I want at any time that I want. And so are you. If I feel hurt because of you, okay, so I feel hurt. But then you are more than entitled to be hurt because of something that I say or do. *whispers* this is the part that I am learning...I just assumed I couldn't hurt anyone. How false that is. I have just as much power to hurt as anyone else. I just hate knowing that I hurt someone. It drives me nuts!
   I do this thing...where if I am hurt by someone I will tell them, then once I have told them, I try to downplay the who incident as though it wasn't a big deal. Apparently it was a big deal, because it bothered me. But, once I have aired my grievance...I wish to pretend it never happened. I am learning that I am entitled to be hurt or sad. But I have no right to lash out and make someone else hurt because of my own pain.
   That's my lesson for today, and tomorrow, and the next day...and forever

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Tiger must stay in your backpack...

   I'm not that parent. The one who gloats too much, and shows off all the pictures. The parent who relays every detail of their kid to let others know how incredible I think they are. Perhaps it is a flaw. Who knows. And I also pride myself in not being a helicopter parent. I teach and let go. I discipline and let go.    And I thought I would be ready for this: first day of Pre-K. I have been very positive and uplifting and have wanted my son to be extra ready to go to school. We have talked about it for months! I am ready... Or so I thought.  This morning, as white boy was leaving to take them to daycare, he said to Owen, "You can't take Tiger to school tomorrow or he will have to stay in your backpack, so do you want to take him to daycare today?" I thought little of it, but as Owen threw him down on the ground and turned to head out the door, my throat hitched. "Are you sure you don't want to take him today?" He said no. It was a sense of finality.  ...

60 years ago is not the 1940s

  When you are born, you are lucky to get one day a year to celebrate just you. Well, you and all the others born on that day. When you become a mother or father, you get another day for just you. Sometimes those days come when you are not ready, and some come when you wish they wouldn't.   Today, 60 years ago, my mother was born. A date that means littler to most people I know than to her or me. As we age, and my mother is no different, our birthdays become just another cycle of the rising of the sun and a following of the moon. Nothing to make a big to do of.   My mother enjoys subtly. She can be dramatic but embraces the subtle acknowledgement of herself. She has ALWAYS placed herself second and counted the accolades of her children as if they were her own. That was one thing my mother NEVER lacked: humility. Which made me often sad she didn't get more than 2 days a year commemorating her.   Mom, I know I've come short. I know that I have openly and often faile...

The Sacred Requiem

  He handed me the hymnal and asked me if I was ready...if I could do this. To be honest, I had no idea what I was doing. I had never planned a funeral, and even if I had imagined planning one it sure wasn't this early in life and it sure wasn't for my only brother, my only sibling. At 25, I felt like a little child getting left behind in a sea of strangers. I was terrified.   2 days prior, my heart stopped beating. 2 short days before this, my peaceful world collided with the dark. And now I had to prepare for the world to say goodbye to greatness. The tree fell in the woods and the world shook with its sudden end. And we, as the collective, needed to imagine that very tree as the beautiful piece of woodwork it now was and bow to it's new exulted shape.   I wasn't sure how to plan a requiem. But, it had been placed in my hands and I wanted to give him the best I could. He deserved it. He deserved life...to live...to breathe still and chase every dream he thought into...