It’s way too late [or early] to be writing.

I’m only beginning to notice how it as that people who have not suffered are repelled be suffering.

It is the girl who was never disciplined who grew up to be the child specialist who condemns spanking. It’s the mother who sends her kids to school every day who deems full time mothering as ‘boring’ and ‘constricting.’ It is the person who has never been made to endure physical pain that fears persecution. It is the privileged individual who faints more readily under aggravation than the one who’s hands have spent a lifetime developing calluses.

Why are those who have endured something outside of our society’s expectations the ones that are last to complain? And why is it that those who have suffered the most hardships are the most resilient? I have come to recognize true heartache when the teller takes little satisfaction in the telling. And when they share their story, there is barely a shadow of self-pity or complaint.

It is as if all the complainers, the ones with the words and cries, are whining about injustice, and the man who has actually lived through what they are crying about is the one working silently, diligently. He is the one changing the world. It is the man who comes home depressed because his life gives him little little affirmation for his being, his entitled lifestyle allowing him to indulge in the thought that his life is boring, and it is the small child who is slaving day after day, weaving fabric in India for that man’s pristine shirt, who has the largest, most content smile to offer.

Oh World. What to do with all your conundrums and dreams…what sets your standards of normal and happiness, and why? do not forget Who’s shadow you are.

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