The wind has come back. No breakfast in the garden today. It was always the height of foolishness to think that summer might be on its way before the middle of April. Lovely week to be on the river though. Yes, wouldn’t it, but it didn’t happen – deal with it.
Sometimes over the last few days I’ve been feeling guilty about rushing inside for 3 o’clock, to spend an hour sitting in the front room listening to drama on the radio and crocheting, rather than being out in the gorgeous sunshine. Ah yes, guilt. I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately, as well.
In the past, I’ve often been asked if I was raised Catholic – occasionally, Jewish – because of my intense relationship with guilt. A few days ago I blogged about how I’m enjoying the lockdown, and later felt pangs at admitting that I was happy in such awful times when so many people are suffering in so many ways. Yet a few days earlier, I experienced guilt because I was feeling so sorry for myself over my missed holiday and non-event of a birthday, when so many people were having it so much worse than I was- enough with the self-pity, count your blessings, be grateful etc etc.
Guilt gets you like that. I’ve always known it, but don’t think I’ve ever seen it so starkly before. There is literally no way I can ever win that argument: if I’m happy, that’s bad; if I’m miserable, that’s bad too. The only way I could defeat the guilt-gremlin would be by putting myself out there on the front line and martyring myself for the sake of others – though then, you might have to question my motives – and I’d probably get it all wrong and make things worse, so there’s the perfect excuse for sitting on my backside and not doing anything.
I’ve heard Buddhist thinkers say that compassion must start with oneself – that until you can love yourself unconditionally, you aren’t in any position to share the light of compassion with the rest of the world. I can’t see my mother having any truck with that argument. Until everyone else’s actual and emotional needs have been met, there’s no question of looking out for yourself. But how can you ever tell? You need an instinct to know what’s best for everyone else (even before they know themselves), and act on it at all times. That’s what being a good person means – you can’t relax and think about yourself until you’ve checked how every action on your part might affect others. And if you’re generally a dreamy, thinky person, not overly sensitive to reading other people’s minds and moods, social interaction becomes a minefield. Where next to stick your foot where it’s not wanted, and prepare to deal with the consequences when they blow up in your face? (See, appropriate metaphor, not just a cliché).
But I’m being unfair on my mother. Can’t go blaming her for my failings.