Being good

I’ve been aware over and over today about what “being good” could mean.  I was well-behaved, went to church, and was a Girl Scout with a badge sash full of badges.  The only acting out I really did was as a late teen hippie.  But I still saw myself as a “good” hippie.  I was protesting the war, marching for civil rights and taking care of Mother Earth.

What’s the pay off?  Why was I good?  To get into heaven?  Because I had a fear of  authority?  I think my acting out finally showed up when I perceived that the  authorities’ words and actions weren’t matching.  Who were these “authorities” anyway?

Did I learn healthy debate?  Probably not.  I had a cynical wit (translated: cloaked my words because I didn’t know how to say what I needed to say directly).  It was a survival skill I learned from my family.  We had a way with words.

I’m really not very good at being appropriately angry.  The Southern woman.  Maybe others can relate.

I want to tell you I’m tired of being “good” because I have a fear of authority.  But the paradox is I want to still be “good.”  Is it corny to say “good for something”?  I’m learning that to use the energy from frustration and anger and turn it into a passion for problem solving and creativity is amazingly freeing.

Just a little Freedom Weekend thinking.


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