To Be Understood – To Understand


One of my goals for the time I have over and above sixty years, is to become less interested in being understood.   It causes a lot of inner anguish and more than enough outer crankiness when I feel misunderstood.  Why is that so important to me?  (I just glanced at the clock and it said 7:52.  I was born on the 7th day of October in 1952.  Random coincidence?  Or cosmic message?  Random.  Probably.)

One day, not too many weeks ago, I found myself practically sobbing for a few minutes.  Something I read hit a nerve and got me to thinking that maybe the reason it means so much to me for things to make sense is because when I was just under two years old, I was left in a hospital in Chicago and my parents didn’t take me with them when they had to go home.  My mom…

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