Baring my soul

I harbour a self-perception that I have no dark, subterranean forces simmering within me. You know the sort of forces, buried deep most of the time, but, triggered by a provocation, manifesting in a sudden, hot, volcanic eruption or a cold act of revenge. I once mentioned at work that my darkest forces were no darker than twilight, which prompted a colleague to call me Twilight Gerry. This has been my perception of myself from the time I began to develop perceptions of myself. What keeps the darkness dusky at worst is illumination provided by the difficulty to live with myself if I harmed someone. The pain can be unbearable if I think I’ve said something to make someone feel bad about themselves.

There is something else within me at work too. Another piece of self-perception if you like. I like seeing people happy, the type of happiness that comes from knowing they are loved, from doing productive things, from working at fulfilling their potential, capabilities, talents. I might envy them, wish to be as talented as them, but I am never jealous to the extent of begrudging their happiness or being unable to admire their output. I note their state of mind, maybe I might learn from it, I try to note my feelings, and then I move on with my life.

What have been my darkest moments? I remember, back in the day, my twenties and thirties, battling with my family members, battling with myself, anger mingling with despair, directed at them and myself, others too, those that I loved who wouldn’t sufficiently love me back. But that anger and despair never led to desperation, never led to irreversible destructive deeds. I sometimes wonder if I was thwarted only by my timidity but I argue with myself that a fundamental goodness, an altruism, came in the way. Deepest down, I know I am a good person, always have been, going as far back as I can in conscious memory. I have never sustained anger through that dangerous decrease in temperature when anger becomes cold, when it facilitates deeds that are most destructive to others, and eventually to oneself. When the heat of my anger subsides so does my anger. I am incapable of cold, clinical revenge. If that is a burden, I happily shoulder it. It is a burden that enables me to live with myself, also enables me to engage with the world with a reasonably pure heart and uncluttered mind. My regrets, they exist make no mistake, sometimes swirl in my head and cause me to lament past foolishness, lack of ambition, misdirected discipline and dedication, preoccupation with looking for love, when I should have been progressing and developing my best capabilities.

But, having arrived at my most settled self late in life, I have chosen not to wallow in past foolishness but to seize the moments as they make themselves available to me.