My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Defensive Sadness
He is concerned that abandoning his apprehension will bring something worse. Anxiety in this sense is defensive. It protects him against something that may be worse. It may seem silly, but in the past any sense of ease or inclination to believe himself safe was the beginning of a new sadness. It may not have been causal. His relief and the start of hope may not have caused whatever followed, but he is not taking any chances.
Labels:
anxiety,
defensiveness,
hope,
protection,
sadness,
safety,
silliness
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