I have never considered myself to be a greedy person. I don't take what's not mine. I don't require more than what I'm willing to work for and earn. I don't desire more than what I'm worth or what I'm owed. There is a sense of greediness growing within me, though. I want explanations. I want apologies. I want to travel back in time and not make the stupid mistakes I've made.
I'm greedy for belief in myself. My outer layers are hard with it; however, my innards are all a mush of self-doubt, anxiety, rage, and sadness. Mostly, I'm greedy for patience. I want things to be fine. RIGHT NOW. Just when I think I have a handle on life, the velocity of the curveball thrown stuns me and then THWOK! It hits me in the forehead. I've landed on my butt too many times to count but every time I've gotten up, dusted myself up, and moved forward.
I'm greedy for peace. A sense of quiet within my brain. King Fear holds court
in my mind with all his minions shouting above one another trying to be heard. Rage cries out, "Kill the bastards!" Sadness wails, "Why me, why me?" Anxiety whispers, "You'll never do this, you can't survive."
I'm greedy for the inner voice saying, "You got this." I want it to be louder than all the others. It needs to start in my heart before it can invade my brain.
And so, I work. Hard. Pressing onward.
April 8, 2017