My friends Pat Reynolds and Joyce Kramer speculate that this concept of not complaining might be doing more harm than good. I understand at least Pat’s point: I could be turning my reaction inward, letting it work its corrosive damage. Other people’s conduct and choices weaken my faith in myself; rather than embracing acceptance of my worth, I hear only the old mantras.  Are you really going to wear that? Do you have to talk so loud? You’re so intense. Get yourself together. 

I trudge up my driveway, struggling, left hand once more in a brace, legs weak, heart heavy. I’ve greeted the carpenter with an assurance that life could be worse, so in truth it is good. But I remain unconvinced.

A flower peeks from the tangle of weeds under the deck. It fell from the railing two weeks ago, its clay pot smashed. I left it to die, but it refused to succumb.  I gaze at it for a few minutes. Then I shoulder my bag and move towards the front door.  I turn the corner just in time to see the last glow of the setting sun over the neighbor’s home.  I pause at the steps to my porch and watch the rays dance across the crimson maple leaves.  Just for me, this beauty; no one else stands beholding this.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I plan to persevere. Life continues.

I’ve included a link with other posts to Kasey Chambers’ song “Not Pretty Enough“.  Some of my friends reject its message.  But it speaks to me.  It echoes what I have asked a thousand times, a hundred ways, in many strangled voices.