On this side of life, which would be mid-way – shh, don’t tell anyone – I can better perceive certain truths. Things I couldn’t fathom as a teenager are now simple to understand.
Why I had to learn fractions.
Why I needed to learn to drive a stick shift vehicle.
Why my Dad insisted upon my using my brain instead of his. “Dad, what does COMPREHEND mean?” “Where’s your dictionary Deb?” GRRRR.
Really, all of those life lesson lend themselves to independence. I have raised my children to become independent valuable members of their circles of influence. As soon as they could dress themselves they did. They help me cook and bake. They will learn to drive a stick shift. And they get the same response from me as I did from their Grandpa.
That ability to live, survive, and function independently keeps you from being a user. If I wanted something, I made it happen. I set aside the “I” in the last 15 or so years. Well, maybe I didn’t. Maybe I put my “I” into making others “I” successful. Their dreams became my own. I loved them. Then again maybe I didn’t. Maybe by setting myself at the “never gonna happen” place and them at the “must happen” place, I crossed the line. I defeated my own purpose in life.
In my effort to love them, did I actually use them? Or in my clear demonstrations of love, did they use me?
What do you think? Should one person give up their entire being to another? Should there be a compromise of goals and dreams? Should both live out their dreams to the fullest – together? Or?
Aint Losin' My Marbles 