Life's a Bitch

I don't know what brought the phrase, "Life's a bitch, and then you die" into the forefront of my mind this morning. I really haven't heard it or thought about it since high school in the late 80's. It's not a mantra I choose to live by--a little too pessimistic for my tastes. And, it feels like a cop-out.

But, you know what? Sometimes it also feels like the right sentiment.

When I was younger, I was overly optimistic and idealistic. I expected things to go right, to work out perfectly. I was beside myself when things went wrong, dramatizing every little inconvenience into an event of catastrophic proportions.

And then, Life happened.

Knowing I wouldn't survive the "real world" in Sally Sunshine mode, that bitch molded me into a cautiously optimistic woman with enough of a cynical edge to survive the hardships she doles out, sometimes in quick succession. At times, it has felt as if Life held my head under water  until I was just about to drown, then graciously allowed me to take a breather before dunking me again.

It has taken me 48 years to learn that Life can be a fickle bitch, but she can also be a compassionate ally. She might push you down the stairs sometimes, but she'll also hold a frozen bag of peas on your black eye. I have learned to respect both sides of her, to learn from her lessons, to thank her for her kindnesses, to accept her gracious gifts with a grateful heart, but to sleep with one eye open in case she decides to try to smother me with my pillow.


What choice do I have? She's not going to change her modus operandi anytime soon. It's up to me to learn how to navigate her world.





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