People say that all the time. They say it about just about anything that doesn’t happen. If you apply for a job and don’t get it, fail a test, come in last in a race – or a close second, if you get a puppy who has to be put down before it’s past its puppy-stage, if you fall in love and it’s not reciprocated.
We blame it on fate, wrong circumstances, bad chemistry with the interviewers, wrong choice of breed, bad hair day, unfair competition, cheating judges. We’ve all been told that “Maybe it wasn’t supposed to happen”. Probably several times.
But how many times have you thought “maybe it was my fault”? I didn’t run fast enough. I chose the runt of the litter because I felt sorry for it. I hadn’t revised enough for that test. I did not come prepared for the interview.
Or, in regards to love, “How can s/he love me when even I don’t love me?” It took me at least 30 years to love myself. The truth is probably closer to 38.
There was a priest who claimed that everyone loves themselves, even if it doesn’t seem that way. That gets my thoughts wandering. Cos if I haven’t loved myself, then why am I still alive? If I couldn’t care less about myself, I should have been dead a long time ago.
Is it possible to love oneself yet not? It sounds very schizophrenic – but then again, staying alive if I truly did not love myself also sounds very bizarre. Could it be that some part of me has loved myself all along, yet my conscious self has not been able to reciprocate? Does that mean I have become a more lovable person, or simply that I have become able to love? Will I ever fall out of love with myself, and if so, will both parts of me fall out of love or just the conscious one?
The more I think about it, the more confused I get. The more confused I get, the more I adhere to the idea that maybe those of us who take a long time loving ourselves, of learning to love ourselves, simply are unable to reciprocate the internal love for ourselves that we are born with? And that some people, the ones who do die too soon, have so many bad experiences and are broken so badly that their love is gone.
This I do know. When my self’s love was no longer unrequited, I stopped worrying about what other people thought of me. I stopped caring about people who didn’t care about me. It took me far too many years to reach that realisation – guess what, life’s too short to care about petty people and petty quarrels! And it’s certainly far too short to care about people who don’t love you back.
I think cats are born with that wisdom.