A Shoulder to Cry On ...

"Because the truth is, rarely can a response make something better. What makes something better is connection."

There are days when we just need a shoulder to cry on. Moments when we just need to say what hurts us so much and people to really hear us. We don’t need and we aren’t helped at all when we are criticized in our pain, we don’t want to hear “you are so easily defeated”, no matter if we cut our fingers or lose something really dear, because nobody can really judge an internal wound from the outside. We want to be hugged and allowed to cry. We want empathy more than anything. We want to be heard, we want for just once to be understood, we want to stop working, wearing masks, and just take our time from everything, because we need now our time of grieving.  

It’s funny how we criticize in people what we have inside ourselves, too blind or proud to see … Maybe Life has its moments of greyness for everyone and we do need someone to remind us its colours, as we sometimes, so desperately, unsuccessfully, try to do. Once in a year, maybe we need them - our dear old friends -too. You know that time when we want to stop being the strong ones, the fighters, the ones who find the energy to go on, no matter how difficult life is. And if this “now” is the worst moment to do this, maybe we do need that shoulder, not a kick.

Now we search for that forgotten, mythical, sacred "two-way street". Because what we really want now is NOT to be criticized in our pain, to be sunk in it, but, most of all, we just want not to feel alone in such moments. 

  

Where is the difference?

Am crezut mereu in lucrurile acelea pe care le credeam inradacinate in fiinta umana, acele lucruri de care nu ai nevoie de nimeni pentru a le sti si a le face, acele lucruri care reprezentau credinta mea in fiinta umana.

Basmele ne invata ca binele invinge mereu raul, pe cand scriitorii preferati ne avertizeaza ca the winner takes nothing. Ne luptam fara sa tinem cont de ranile care ne ard. Lucram de dimineata si pana-n noapte, sacrificam luni si ani, dam tot ce avem mai bun pentru cei de langa noi, iertam, suntem acolo, oricat de greu ne-ar fi. Pentru ceea ce acea persoana inseamna pentru noi si in credinta aia de mai sus, nu se renunta asa, cu una, cu doua, la cei de langa noi.

Si cu toate acestea, suntem acei urmasi ai lui Sisif … ne frangem in luptele noastre si continuam sa urcam, sa impingem acel bolovan inainte, pentru ca atunci cand ajungem in varf sa constientizam ca toate eforturile noastre au fost in van, ca tot ceea ce ne ramane e o umbra palida de mandrie, nici aceea prea puternica din cauza oboselii accumulate, a mahnirii, a singuratatii pe care o simtim acolo-n varf sau atunci cand suntem rostogoliti, din nou, spre poalele muntelui abia urcat. Ne dam seama cat de usor putem fi inlocuiti, cat de putin acele principii mai conteaza, cat de putini suntem apreciati, cat de putin noi, sau actiunile noastre conteaza.   

Unde e oare diferenta pentru astfel de oameni? Cum mai pot ei oare continua, cum o pot lua de la capat, cum mai pot ierta sau mai crede-n ceva sau cineva, cum mai pot ei oare sa porneasca din nou la drum? Cum mai putem oare gasi cuvintele potrivite, sacre, de a ne vindeca, de a spune ce simtim, de a potoli razboaiele dinauntrul nostru?...