When you are grieving loved ones, but starting to feel a bit more like yourself on some days, how much is too much joy?
When you are navigating elder care, but can only be physically in a place once a week, how many days focusing on your work without feeling melancholy, counts as selfish?
How much sun on your face, is too much? Did you get too happy and share that moment?
How many nights in a row of good sleep scores is indulgent?
How much yearning for a vacation when the climate is acting like a pubescent teenager and the fascists are making war is too much?
How much anger is acceptable when you recognize a genetic disposition to occasional releasing of repressed emotions?
What if you were taught you should always make time for a simcha (celebration) (unless you are in a strict mourning period). What if you don’t believe in strictness?
Don’t forget that if you exclaim over your good fortune, you should also wear something red to ward off the evil eye, or exclaim, “from your mouth to god’s ear, poo poo poo”, in case you are exclaiming too much.
My social share from Saturday morning:
I don’t have a video for Saturday evening or Sunday afternoon because I wasn’t plutzing. I was noticing sadness. Maybe frustration. Perhaps helplessness? I think that’s called balance? Allowable balance?
What if you are an independent person who can intellectually understand it’s OK to feel joy? What if you are a modern person who believes in self care? What if you are a set of ancient DNA that pulls in familar directions?
What if your work demands understanding and openness you have to remind yourself to feel to those closer to you?
What if reminiscing over old photos reminds you of close ties, good times, also – sad moments and lost potential? When did you deal with those old stories? Did you?
If you are fifty-three and three quarters you are not supposed to care what people think. Do you still get to care what you think? Do you get to think differently? Do you believe you will work on finding answers?
Some Monday musings.
