Reasons

When you have no one to blame but yourself in a bad situation, it makes everything just a little bit worse.



I’ve come to discover that extending outward, one purposeful, blaming finger through which all your frustration, annoyance and wrath are channeled alleviates the pressure some. With that one appendage, you are able to advertise to others, and more importantly, to yourself, that the current situation happened TO or UPON you.


An index finger is the difference between being a victim, worthy of empathy and comfort and being the catalyst, the gasoline parading proudly amongst flames and worthy of a long eye-roll and ridicule, or worse, pity.


Of course, it’s only natural to point the finger at others first. Cry, scream, throw some spectacular tantrums, and manufacture situations (consciously or not) that separate you from others you care about, or who care about you. Smolder with hatred at other people’s ability to move on and find their happiness, while it seems yours has engaged you in a game of hide-and-go-seek.


It’s easiest to light the match, toss it on dry newspaper and simply turn your back. Not so easy to actively search for the matchbox and all the reasons, feelings, frustrations that led to the match-lighting in the first place.


In the midst of the confusion, the anger and the sadness, there lingers a nagging question. One that is swept under the rug at every time it rears its hideously earnest face, because maybe, just maybe you don’t want to know. That unbearably honest question is Why? or in its milder form, How?


And I ponder, somewhat reluctantly, the answers to both.


Reasons seem to be a running theme for me at the moment. All I want is a reason.


Sometimes the most painful thing to accept or acknowledge is that you are not meant to benefit from every relationship or association that you enter into. Sometimes, you are meant to BE the lesson. End of story. And, sometimes, there is no reason.