I received this gem in the mail today:
Yes, most of the identifying address information has been edited out, but you get the point. One of my doctors was sending test results to my house, addressed to…my parents.
I am yet unsure whether I was flattered by the fact that the staff at his office thought I was a minor child, or whether to be generally appalled.
For what it’s worth, missing the point has been the theme of the last few days.
So I brought up the mystery test results to someone, and was chastised for talking about unpleasant things again. Twice within about 20 minutes, I was told I was depressing.
But here’s what I think: I think that talking candidly about the hard stuff doesn’t make one a depressing person, per se. In fact, some of the dreariest people I know don’t ever say a word about the hard things.
Being human is sometimes rather grim. It’s almost like going on a beautiful holiday. No matter where you’re going, even if you’re flying on a private jet, you still have to pass through the mundane and sometimes horrid formalities of travel. Cars. Traffic. Airports. International borders, and customs, and clearances. Jetlag. The hell of other people.
And even once you arrive at your gorgeous destination, and spend your glorious time away, you still have to pass through it all again on your way back home.
With the destination comes the journey. Which, as I said, is often a bit grim.
Mostly, I just write about the journey. But that doesn’t mean I do not arrive at, or experience, the destinations too.