I moan about being misunderstood – and it occurred to me today that I would be thoroughly disappointed if I was actually understood completely. That ‘understanding’ would change the very definitions which I have gathered up over 35 years worth of hard trudging through my life as I have interpreted it. To be completely understood would leave no room for growth or the desire to be anything other than what was predictable. No space for restlessness and occasional self destruction. How very boring my world, uninterpreted, would be then? So the next time someone tells me I am stark raving mad, I will smile, and say, ‘Why thank you!’
Acceptance, perhaps, would be the sacrifice made by not making any effort to be agreeable with all that attempt to interpret me. That may be the only true measure of real friendship? Real connection. The acceptance of that which we do not understand – but embrace regardless?
Because , let’s be truthful. While we bleat on about not being accepted or understood, we make little effort to understand anyone else unless we find them interesting enough? Well… I don’t anyway.