Waldo

September 1, 2010

Waldo

So, I think I found him.

Not Waldo.  John.

And no, I’ve not been writing about my journey to find some guy who’s going to fix everything.  First of all, I can build my own extension cords, thankyouverymuch.  Second, this was more about unleashing my emotional capitalist.

I grew up with a Marxist emotional economy, believing that I shouldn’t discriminate with my affections – that everyone deserved to have as much of my love and affection as I could give, no matter how they treated me.  And yes, this is significantly the result of not ever being able to tell a certain parent that I didn’t deserve to be treated a certain way.

Whether or not it’s a parent’s right to treat their kids however they want within the confines of the law is a debate for someone else to engage.  I’ve been a lot less interested in the should’ves of the situation than I’ve been in fixing it, because I suspected that I would enjoy life a lot more if I had more say in how it went – in the kinds of people I allowed in my sphere.

It turns out that Mr. Galt is an asshole.

Mr. Galt can walk away from needy people.  His author advocates protecting one’s labor and the fruits thereof, from anyone who would unjustly share in them, with a zealot’s enthusiasm.

And no, I’m not about to tromp around proclaiming my superiority to the heavens, and making everyone “earn” the right to partake of my company.  Basically, this journey has been about learning that I can, that I HAVE, to CHOOSE who is worthy of my time and attention.  That I need to take responsibility for those choices, instead of passively allowing others to direct my life by treating me well or ill for as long as THEY see fit.  That I am the only person who can stand up for me and be vocal about what I do and don’t like.  That it’s okay – necessary, even – to be an asshole sometimes.

Who knew?

And so, I leave you with this completely unrelated advice:  Should you come across one of these, and be lured by its siren call into throwing yourself astride and signaling to the operator to turn it on…

Hang on with your legs – the strap is all but useless.

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