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I feel guilty for missing yesterday, because if I’ve made a commitment to do something I always feel guilty about not doing it. My goal is a blog a day. The guilt thing is my grandmother’s doing. She was the Queen of guilt. My friends that are Jewish after listening to tales of my childhood agree that the southern hill folk of America just might be the lost tribe of Israel. How else to explain the level of guilt?
Guilt is a fairly negative emotion. But I have to say as a motivator, if you were raised with it, it has it’s uses. Such as, I feel guilty if I miss a deadline for a book, or anything else. I’ve finally realized that major guilt must be reserved for major deadlines, not the lesser, everyday goals. If I felt major guilt about everything I’d be paralyzed with it. Those of us raised where guilt was meat, drink, and our bed time snack have learned the balancing act. Unless, of course, we broke under the strain of the guilt; stayed home, never left our rooms and did everything our parent told us to do. Probably, did ourselves in at an early age, and the neighbors would shake their head going, “Such a nice girl. Such a good daughter. What could have happened?”
Now, a little note to those individuals that actually enjoy staying home with the parent. If that’s your gig, and it works for you, I’m happy for you. But I will never understand it. For me growing up was about escaping, and freedom. To me the place where I grew up was not a refuge but a prison. If your home life was blissful, and your personalities messed rather than clashed with your family, hurrah for you, and I mean that. I always looked at people that seemed to fit in with their parents in a sort of envy when I was younger. But for me, viva la revolution.