I have been simply overwhelmed by the brute honesty of your answers. I almost didn’t even post yesterday’s dilemma, for I feared everyone would think me devoid of conscience. I totally expected to get flambeed to hell and back over this. But I now see I’m amongst my people. Blackhearts unite!
All kidding aside, your answers and insights have really helped me make sense of this conundrum, in a way I wasn’t expecting. The whole karma bank account thing is something I’m going to carry around in my mental toolbox for awhile. And yes, I do feel I have made a lot of karmic deposits. I volunteer, I put my share into that damnable fireman’s boot on Labor Day (good cause, but I dislike the bully factor), and I always let people into traffic, among things.
Me being a big old softie, I think it sprouts from my junior high days, when I was incessantly picked on for being fat. Junior high, man. Did anyone enjoy this pimple-pocked pressure cooker? Personally, I have fond memories of kids making boom-boom sounds when I’d walk by. Others simply wouldn’t talk to me. I went to every school dance for the simple joy of listening to Duran Duran on a different set of speakers. I even tried out for cheerleading, not knowing that fat trumps everything, including s-p-i-r-i-t. You emerge from this life experience either by becoming the Unabomber or Santa Claus. I’m guess I’m somewhere in between. Maybe a pissy elf with a knack for writing manifestos.
So yes, I have decided it is time to make a withdrawal from the Bank of Karma. And no, ma’am, I won’t be needing a receipt for this transaction.
Good for you!
Besides, if she paid on an insurance policy in your name for all these years and you didn’t die, you’ve held up your end of the deal admirably. This is your reward. And because I am so blackhearted, I would put say, half, in the the college fund and the rest in Jimmy Choos - or whatever gets your motor running.
It does feel good to know that you are not alone–doesnt it? I too hated jr high and actually high school in part too. I wasn’t one of the “cool” group at my school. I remember my Mom telling me then that it wouldnt matter to me later in life because I was a good person…ironically she was right. At my 20th reunion all the “cool” girls were there–most divorced, working scut jobs etc and I have a great family, my own business and bunches of friends that werent cool in high school either.
Correction: A pissy elf with two grand. The best kind.