If I were my own best friend I would try to be genuinely helpful to myself.
I would give myself advice but try not to be a nag.
I would get me out of the house when I was in a funk.
I would urge myself to get professional help when we reached the limits of our friendship.
I would explain to myself that me did not mean what he said.
I would stay and keep me company and send someone else for help.
I would proofread for me since I can’t do it for myself. That includes double checking schedules and calendars, which are confusing charts full of imaginary plurals like "days" as if there is ever more than one.
I would remind me of good ideas I had already thought of but not acted on.
I would have a theoretical discussion with myself about the limits of friendship. I would steer the conversation away from my ideas about group selection versus kin selection in evolution.
I would applaud my better piano solos.
I would ask myself hard questions without expecting an answer.
I would be more patient with myself than I am with me.
I would just sit and be quiet with me when talking would not help.
I would fight fair with myself, and not beat myself up for losing.
I would probably take myself for granted.
2 comments:
A super-big LIKE for the one about group selection versus kin selection . . .
And staying with myself while someone else went for help. I learn more and more from twelve years of meditation practice and Buddhist psychology/philosophy a la Thich Nhat Hanh's teaching that staying with myself is what myself needs. I can't "love" myself: that's just a repulsive concept even though it is explained to me brilliantly by brilliant people, including my 38-year-old son. But I can be present with myself. I can sit and accompany myself in deep breathing and relaxation. I can distract my hypercriticism by walking in the garden, cuddling a newly adopted doggie (miniature poodle, I'm not talking baby-talk), or by watching birds with binoculars.
Deep listening. I hold myself in my mind when I need help. And I am, after a lifetime of ragged escapes from self-corruscation, very well. Actually fine. Growing old has actually been beneficial, for I let go of much that was totally useless garbage-level drive to make up for my defiencies.
Thanks for sharing with me as well as for reading my writing. It has been a pleasure to reconnect.
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