Sometimes I worry about myself. My inability to care about people is almost astonishing. I care about my wife, my daughter, and my son. To a lesser degree I care about a few other select friends, and my brother, but I can count the number of people I’m actually concerned with on just 10 fingers. The holidays make this far more evident than other times of the year. People are travelling around, rushing to see all of their various relatives and “friends” and I couldn’t possibly care less about any of that. I don’t see any relatives on Christmas, there are no calls to friends, and I couldn’t be happier.
As any of you more frequent readers know, I haven’t spoken to my mother in 6 glorious years. I don’t consider this odd, or wrong, it’s just the situation. What does strike me as strange is that I DON’T care. I’ve spoken with others who have had a falling out with their parents, some even less severe than my own, and they’re all pretty torn up about it. Why am I not? Shouldn’t I miss my family? Long for better days with them? Search for ways to mend our wounds? Whatever mechanism it is that triggers loyalty to a family, I don’t have it. I view all people as people. No titles. No brother, father, cousin, “best friend”, mother. They’re all just names, like bill or bob.
I am quite intrigued by others need to title the people in their lives and then interac with based on those titles. I’m also intrigued by my inability to do this. I consider my wife, daughter, and son to be my family. They are my world and I wouldn’t want it any other way. Everyone else is just a distraction from my true family and I don’t want that. It’s really a great way to think, in my opinion.
At any rate, merry Christmas to all of you who have used your time to read these rambles this year. I appreciate being a distraction in your lives.