Living in infamy

Nothing to sneeze at indeed. I've been well, been wrapping things up...or at least tying them down. I feel like I've calved great bergs of jade that lay betwixt us, sat squarely in the path of my relationships with other people. And it's good, it is.

But I imagined that by learning to be less judgmental, having fewer expectations...well, things would even out, you know? What could be unsettling or weird or off if I don't bring my own biases and presumptions to Everything Else. And while I've found it to be an effective method in my everyday interpersonal interactions, there is this unfortunate side effect.

It doesn't make things less weird...it makes everything weird. Strange and beautiful and unexpected. Moments and conversations and relationships all rare and rich. Pearls of great price, over and over and over again. And sometimes all I want to do is hold them in my hand, and stare. I don't know how people do this for years and decades. Be alive, I mean. But I'm still giving it a shot. And doing surprisingly well, if I do say so myself.