Just the other day my mom mentioned how he used to send her flowers on all kinds of holidays. He'd always send her something for Mother's Day . . . because after all, she was a mother, just not his. She said he was very sweet and thoughtful. I'd never thought of him that way. I just shaped him in my head as a rascal . . . which he was in part I'm sure.
Growing up is weird. It really is like the more I learn the less I know. I'm less sure about anything, except that before I just had my head in the clouds, or in the sand, or up another dark place we won't call by name.
There are people so close to me that I remember a certain way, only to find out they struggle with something I would have never pinned on them in a million years. I am learning so much in my developmental psychology class. I really feel after every chapter like my head will explode with knowledge that I just can't make true sense of. There is so many contradicting ideas that I believe. Anyways, I guess my life right now and what I am reading are crashing together and I'm trying to connect it all.
What makes a person? Are they summed up by their thoughts and intentions . . . or their words . . . or their actions and behaviors? I know that it is a mixture - all and none of it. You can describe someone's character without mentioning all of their sins. I think before I was able to not think about it because what difference does it make. Now I am trying to decide how I am going to help people, and it makes a HUGE difference.
My professor says it's a good sign to be in this state of disequilibrium . . . but I'm ready to be undisequilibriumized.