I gotta tell ya, I am sick of bad news and dark days.

No sooner do we finally have an eleventh hour deal to avert the “fiscal cliff” than everyone, from the Huffington Post to most Republicans and some Dems, is complaining.

Many of us seem, in fact, to have advanced degrees in negativity and pessimism.  I am one such person, still after all these years trying to transcend the unconscious manufacture of doom and gloom.

You know my litanites and sagas:  my mother was a crazy you know what.  I was screwed out of my degree, the local Episcopal choir.  I was mistreated in the nursing home, screwed by my ortho doc, and it’s his fault I’ve lost so much of my mobility.

I am disgusted by my own addiction to misery.  By my seemingly inherent the glass is half empty, always, outlook.

Where the community is concerned, it’s  not a stretch to say that all of Washington needs to stop with the negativity, paranoia and conspiracy theories.

Becoming more forward looking is on us.  It is all on  us as a culture, and on each of us, individually.

It was on me to extricate my degree before the Statute of Limitations expired, disabled or not.  It was on me to go to a different ortho doc to open my knee back up and lengthen the leg and put in a new knee.  Now because it is five and a half years since my “bad break”, and I am extremely wilfull, my body has skewed.

Nobody else did that to me; I did it to myself. Contrary to Clint Eastwood’s hilarious bit at the RNC last summer, you can F yourself– to the max.

What a bitter pill.

And how daunting, that we  have to face the things we don’t want to.

Infernal negativity often lassos me when I’m just sitting around watching House-hunters International, salivating over one lucky woman’s purchase of a medieval villa in Sicily for a paltry 15,000.  Or when I’m watching the childbirth series on TLC.  If only I could somehow get back to Italy.  How sad that I never had a child and had six miscarriages.

Poor deprived Jen.

Poor, put upon members of Congress.

So many things can’t be controlled or changed.  Like all of human history, like the course of our lives.

I mean, what do we actually have any power over?

I do believe we all possess a measure of personal power to the extent that we can overcome many, many things.  But some things just are.  They can’t be helped and they can’t be undone.

My role models at the New Year, therefore, in addition to my fellow women writers, are the characters of Downton Abbey.  Of course they are screwy fictitious Edwardians with their share of melodrama.  But, they have that nobility and integrity that makes for a better, more je ne sais quois perspective than staying stuck, reliving every hard thing.

To be released from the chokehold of negativity, we must forgive and let go and entrust ourselves to the gift of the moment.  Live in the present, invest ourselves in creating, interacting, growing and growing up.

Many of us have trouble with casting blame, refusing to see our own part in any situation.  We have an especially difficult time with forgiveness.

But perhaps, just as it is a matter of course to be pissed off and to blame, we should cultivate a new skill and practice it until it is habitual; to forgive, to not take others’ bait, to block anger–which bruises our own souls as well as others’,  with a feint, a jab, anything.

What I have to say to the petulant GOP is what I say to myself at the new year:  Grow the F Up! Get Over It, Me, and Everyone Else….xxxj

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