Little Bill

No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.
— Eleanor Roosevelt

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Since before my thirtieth birthday, the road has been bumpy. Add on to that a very unsettled stomach and you have an unhappy Little Bill. But with some soul-searching, some serious self-examination, I’ve found that making changes in my life isn’t that difficult.

A recent self-taught lesson is that nothing good comes from a grudge; and that a bruised ego is to be left to those less able to deal with how things are. So I’ve reconciled with some people in my past, found some closure with others, and this self-change is right on schedule.

I wrestled with writing about this for a while. I even posted — and subsequently deleted — a long-winded email about, to, and defending myself from someone incredibly special to me who seems to have written me off as a friend. I’d composed entire blog entries about poor-weather friends. Tirades and rants were discarded. Apologies and pleads deleted. I did my share of reaching out. No one reached back. And really, that’s fine. It’s not the way I’d have seen things go, but I try and live under the philosophy that one shouldn’t worry about the things over which they have no control.

So I won’t.

I’ll miss some of the habits — such as reaching into my pocket to make a walk-from-home call — but that’s okay. Life changes and we adapt. Self-worth is independent from our environments. We are in control of ourselves. Thunderclouds do not equal gloom.

So, I pick myself up and hold my own head high with dignity. I know myself; I know my own value. No one can take that from me. Not even the people I love. The judgments can come. I don’t need someone to hold my hand to tell me that I’m okay. Because I know I am.

And it’s that thought, two blocks from the subway, that came to my mind as I pocketed my phone. And suddenly, like before, the cadence in my footsteps matched the beat in my music.