It is human nature, I guess, that we are constantly dissatisfied with what we have. Even during the times fate does give us better circumstances, it is not uncommon for us to see, much less appreciate, how better off we are. It’s always the “should have been” and “what could be better” things that preoccupy us. We are hardly ever satisfied.
I guess there’s something in that phenomenon that explains the increasing callousness and lack of attention we have for the people around us as time goes by. We constantly mull over their mistakes, weaknesses and shortcomings, and it is only when they’ve gone—oftentimes for good—that we say wholeheartedly that he or she was a good person, that his or her heart was without peer in its purity and kindness. Only then we say that we wish we were more understanding, more accepting, more adjustable, more loving. Only then do we apologize for our insensitivity, only then do we realize how we’ve failed them, how WE could have done them better, and only then do we truly apologize.
It’s always the small things that we allow ourselves to be plagued with, things we wouldn’t have noticed under worse circumstances—which are, ironically, the things we would much rather have had when we were still under worse circumstances. We’d say that if only he or she wouldn’t be like this, I’d be happy, if only he or she would change this, I’d be content—only to ignore all these things and embrace a renewed, but different kind of discontent once again when better times do come.
It’s easy to say that it’s all in the mind, but nobody does use his or her mind the exact same way the person next to him or her does, after all. Changing a mindset we’ve had all our lives is easier said than done.
I guess that’s the way things will always be. No matter what we do, no matter how much we change for the better, we will never be enough; we will never be enough to make someone truly happy with the way we are. We will always have some flaw, some irritating habit, some annoying quality, some uncomfortable characteristic, or some unacceptable trait that definitely has to go, while whatever improvements we’ve accomplished, while possibly noticed, still ends up largely unappreciated.
As if knowing that we’ll never be perfect isn’t enough.
I guess there’s something in that phenomenon that explains the increasing callousness and lack of attention we have for the people around us as time goes by. We constantly mull over their mistakes, weaknesses and shortcomings, and it is only when they’ve gone—oftentimes for good—that we say wholeheartedly that he or she was a good person, that his or her heart was without peer in its purity and kindness. Only then we say that we wish we were more understanding, more accepting, more adjustable, more loving. Only then do we apologize for our insensitivity, only then do we realize how we’ve failed them, how WE could have done them better, and only then do we truly apologize.
It’s always the small things that we allow ourselves to be plagued with, things we wouldn’t have noticed under worse circumstances—which are, ironically, the things we would much rather have had when we were still under worse circumstances. We’d say that if only he or she wouldn’t be like this, I’d be happy, if only he or she would change this, I’d be content—only to ignore all these things and embrace a renewed, but different kind of discontent once again when better times do come.
It’s easy to say that it’s all in the mind, but nobody does use his or her mind the exact same way the person next to him or her does, after all. Changing a mindset we’ve had all our lives is easier said than done.
I guess that’s the way things will always be. No matter what we do, no matter how much we change for the better, we will never be enough; we will never be enough to make someone truly happy with the way we are. We will always have some flaw, some irritating habit, some annoying quality, some uncomfortable characteristic, or some unacceptable trait that definitely has to go, while whatever improvements we’ve accomplished, while possibly noticed, still ends up largely unappreciated.
As if knowing that we’ll never be perfect isn’t enough.
Comments