For some reason every time I first see my final grades, I choke. It's not like they're that bad, just that I always want straight A's and I am pretty far from that.
I could cry over grades. Easily. And it makes me feel superficial, if not immature, like a kid throwing a tantrum.
It then forces me reflect on all of the things that cannot be numerically summed that I don't choke on: break-ups, moves, signing student loan documents, devastating current events. Why don't I cry over these things?
I had the opportunity yesterday to talk with an old friend that I haven't spoken with in almost two years. She is one of the freest spirits I know. She's been reading the Book of Mormon with a greater zeal than I'd seen in the past and expressed the new commitment she felt to the gospel in the most ethereal, open terms I've ever heard. It was refreshing to say the least; but also allowed me to pause and recognize the stark contrast that existed between the two of us.
Yes. I've been living a life governed by fear that I will be hurt again the way I was hurt in marriage. It's meant that I've become insensitive and selfish and established a solid ability to rationally justify why I think that's all okay.
There are some people I've hurt pretty badly and who's wounds I never even stopped to acknowledge. I then only took the time to justify why that was okay for me to do.
When I move to Brooklyn on May 1st I will:
Read the Book of Mormon in the sanctuary of Suvi's apartment.
Watch people when I am on the street and in the subway.
Figure out how to be soft again.
