My feet are all cut up from seashells.
Walking on the beach.
I love it.
The cuts don't hurt.
Rubbing my finger against them reminds me of where I was only hours earlier.
It's the good kind of cut.
Wouldn't it be great if all of life was that way.
You get cut up but it doesn't hurt.
And you don't even mind the cuts because of where you got them or the experience you had getting them.
Turning every closed door into Open Doors and Opportunity - to learn, grow, get better, and be wiser.
--
She killed me.
I was dead after losing her.
And the kids.
You can lose a girl. Someone can walk out of your life and you can be okay.
But when they take 4 others with them, it kills.
I had a girlfriend - but more, a family.
4 kids, 2 dogs, 2 rabbits, a turtle and a rat.
Gone.
It cut.
It hurt.
A cut that hurt and would take years to heal.
I kept picking at the scab.
It's never wise to pick at a scab. You risk the chance you'll peel it off too soon, which will only make it bleed again. Then you'll have to wait longer for the scab to heal.
--
I had a great job.
Thousands of 'friends'.
People loved me.
Everywhere I went people talked to me.
People always wanted to shake my hand.
Get an autograph.
Take a picture.
They wanted to know me.
Knowing me got them known.
I was fired.
Cut to the bone in an email.
An email I thought was completely false in every way.
One not truthful but simply searching for a reason.
It cut.
It hurt.
I had never experienced that kind of cut. Starting with anger, then sadness, then questions of adequacy, and more questions of 'why me?', the healing process took years.
--
"Dad, I'm about to lose my truck and I need to borrow $400 to make a payment."
"No."
"You loaned me $200 one time and I paid you back with interest as soon as I had it to pay back."
"No. We're not going to do that."
I wasn't asking 'we'.
I was asking my dad.
That was the last time I talked to my dad and that was 8 or 9 years ago.
We didn't argue.
We didn't fight.
We didn't say anything harmful or negative.
Just a "no" and we (he, his wife, and myself) just walked away.
It cut.
It hurt.
A terrible cut to have.
--
All of those cuts (and so many more) made me who I am today.
Shaped the way I think and how I think them.
I've come to realize that in their own way, each of those things served a purpose. There was Open Doors and Opportunity in each cut.
They taught me lessons.
The biggest of which is cuts heal.
The cuts became scabs, and the scabs - scars. When I see those scars I remember where I was only hours, days, weeks, months, and years ago.
But it's all in the past now.
The cuts have healed.
They no longer hurt.
--
You can move on.
Move forward.
Stop picking at the scab and let the cut heal. You'll be left with a scar as a reminder that that was the past and Open Doors and Opportunity lie in your future.
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