Anger

For many of my “growing up” years I learned that anger should not be felt, acknowledged, or even recognized in our household. I grew up with an amazing spiritual background and two very grounded, rational parents who saw anger as something that was below them.

But I was so angry. Angry at my life, angry at my parents, angry at the world. But I hated the feeling and so I journaled. A lot. I lost myself in soccer, a sport I still am incredibly passionate about. I laughed through the pain and the rage that filled my very core and learned how to sit with the immense feelings of frustration and an existential longing to go home.

Home to my creator. Because life really is hard here…Life is not a cupcake and it’s definitely not a green tea smoothie. I haven’t really understood clearly what an analogy for life could be, but I feel like trying so here it goes.

Life is like a soccer match. A soccer match in the NCAA Final Four, where you train ALL YEAR round for a fleeting moment of completion as you finish the diving header that brings you to that championship match. You trained ALL YEAR for this feeling, this glimpse of eternity that promises you that if you train EVEN HARDER the next year you could reach an EVEN HIGHER high than the one you feel now.

In life we constantly strive to reach these highs — we discover new experiences that ignite our passions and fuel our soul and then the high ends and we are left yet again — wandering. Wishing. Wanting. Waiting for that next high.

And so it goes.

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