I feel. Deeply. I always have. As a kid I was identified as the emotional barometer of the family; when issues arose with my parents or my siblings, my emotional state would indicate that instability. I was labeled as “sensitive”, a label slapped on me because I showed what I felt, I (eventually) spoke what no one else was addressing, and I (eventually) refused to lie with secrets as my bedfellows. Truth has always been hard for me to turn a blind eye to, and so, I feel.
There’s a lot I don’t want. But like it or not, this is. It all is, undeniably. And I have a choice as to whether I’m going to rant and rave and object and age into a curmudgeonly, bitter man, or if I’m going to do everything I can to work with my own feelings of anger, disbelief, disappointment and fear so that I acknowledge and experience them fully, and then occasionally alter those vibrations into different ones that lift my spirits.