Piggy-back on my last post:

 

I also have to resist a huge urge to assign meaning to things that happen to me- especially big, important (and traumatic) things. This may be something everybody does, or it might just be a vestige of my religious days. Christians have a tendency to say things like “Everything happens for a reason” and “God has a plan.” It could also be something I picked up from all of that literary analysis I had to do in high school and college- a big part of which is symbolism. Did I mention I have a problem with fiction? It could also be that human part of me that’s prone to see patterns in things whether or not patterns exist- it’s me trying to make connections between events that happen to me and truths about myself, my personality, my self-worth, etc.

 

Assigning meaning to circumstantial things (like medical conditions and/or events) is a super great thing to be able to do when you’re writing a novel. It’s pretty useless in real life. Especially when there is no known cause for your medical condition and/or event. There is no “reason” all of this happened the way that it did. There is no divine entity teaching me a “lesson”- and what a crappy teacher that entity would be since the point of the “lesson” is entirely unclear still. This condition is not symbolic of anything. I am releasing myself of the responsibility to assign any kind of meaning to what happened. I’m just going to accept that it happened and move on.

 

Easier said than done, but it’s worth a try putting the intention out into the universe like that.

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