In the movie Sex and the City, Charlotte Goldenblatt--upon being given advise by future Mrs. Carrie Preston not to worry about her new baby because everything will be alright...and that she should not change anything about who she really was just for the baby--blurted out that bad things happen to good people: run-away grooms, cancer, divorce, the works. What was to stop her from believing that nothing bad was going to happen? She was almost convinced that her shit-out-of-luck kismet was just right around the corner. There is absofuckinglutely no reason for Murphy's Law to jeté away from her...and that she will most definitely get her turn in the bad-thing-happening-to-good-people round robin. Carrie, in her farcical fashion of speaking, exclaimed, "Oh, honey, you've Poughkeepsied in your pants (in Mexico)...I think you're done!"
When does your bad luck really stop? When did it begin in the first place? And why do bad things (or bad people, too!) happen to good people? In the great big scheme of things, why is it that sometimes (or a lot of times), you do not get what you deserve...or get those that you don't? Why is it that despite all the goodness that you've brought about in this world, the bad things still creep in and hurricane on your parade?
As a behavioral trainer I've kept talking about not fixating on circles of concern--where we do not have control over, and just be proactive by focusing on our circles of control. As a devout Catholic, I've kept looking at the patience of Job--despite the loss and suffering, he still remained steadfast with the Lord. As a "seasoned 'survivor'" in the field of bad lucks and bad people, I've held on to the silver lining that all experiences I've withstood over the years only made me better and stronger. As a hardcore song enthusiast, I've repeatedly looped India.Arie's This, Too, Shall Pass on my iPod--that this day will one day be the past.
All these nuggets of wisdom, under normal circumstances, would've effortlessly appeased my bothered heart and mind. But today is not a day that would fall under the category "normal circumstances"...as my melancholia surge has officially begun--one that I usually get weeks before I turn one year older yet again. Today, I cannot, for the love of me, seem to find solace.
I couldn't help but think: 525600minutes into it, when's the next time I find myself Poughkeepsie-ing in my pants?
