These past few weeks I have been contemplating my own discontent. I previously posted about my own grumpiness and feeling out of sorts. I have been desperate to understand what has been churning in that mysterious corner of myself I so often try to cover up and insulate from the world. Yes, I have a few considerable challenges in my life but comparatively they seem manageable to me most of the time. I may occasionally cry in my car on the way home or during some ridiculously produced alien movie but on a day to day basis I know how lucky I am and how much I have in my life to be deeply grateful for. Then today I realized what that not so tiny granule of irritation has been these past few weeks: pride. Hence the picture of one of literature and film's greatest representatives of that trait: Fitzwilliam Darcy.
But in all reality I had a moment of inspiration in which I was allowed to see my nagging weakness recently and it became so obvious that pride was at the heart of it. I realized that at the foundation of my recent feelings of malaise was a subconscious understanding of two facts:
- my growing reliance on the care and concern of my friends, especially those here in NY
- my inherent need to feel needed
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