It's hard to believe that July is almost over. In some ways it seems like a long time that I've been distancing yet at the same time it feels like a week.
Over the last several years as I've aged into my seventies I've often found myself remembering incidents and whole periods from my past. Some things that I regret, more so in what I did or didn't do for other people than in decisions I made about myself. Some things that I'm proud of, moments when I stood up for something, or picked the hard but "right" choice, or was simply kind.
But just in these last few days I've been thinking back about the person I was at various times in my life, which tends to feel almost like someone else. And when I do look at that person I'm feel such compassion for him, for what he was and for how difficult it was for him to deal with the world, how overwhelmed he often was, how lonely, how hard he was trying. I would just like to be able to give him a hug and not so much tell him that it would be all right but that he would survive and that someone understood.
In many ways that person is still me. I still find it difficult to cope with the world and unfamiliar situations, I'm still very socially awkward, still largely alone. The big difference is that I am retired and don't have to face going into a job and coping with supervisors and co-workers and all the other difficulties of the workplace - and while I have health issues they are all currently under control. Also, I no longer torture myself with doubts about whether I'm doing the right things or if I'm wasting my life.
