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Most of my life, my natural internal voice has been a hopeful and enthusiastic one. This voice sees a pile of shit and is just sure there’s a pony in there somewhere. I call her Pollyanna. She’s not an idiot so much as she’s ever-hopeful. She’s hopeful people will be kind, and love will prevail. She is loyal. In hindsight, she was the driving force behind some of the more painful decisions I made, all in service to love and truth and humanity.
But I’ve taken many trips around the sun, and I’m more than a little wounded. Life has kicked me around and I’m waiting for my heart to heal. Pollyanna really thought I’d feel better by now. So there’s a new tone of voice in here, and I don’t like her much. She’s a curmudgeon. She’s frustrated and disgusted, wanting to say things like, “young people these days!” She frequently does a spectacular eye-roll, followed by an epic face-palm. She huffs “ugh” and now wonders if maybe I’d be best served as a monk. She has had it with everything. She is done.
She needs a name. Maybe if I name her, I can contain her. Maybe if I name her, I can soothe her a bit.

Jill Greenberg sad angry

Photo credit: Jill Greenberg, from her End Times series
She’s an amazingly creative photographer. Check her out here: