Sorry Mom

A disclaimer to my mom: you may cry while reading this.

Yesterday, my family flew home to the states after visiting me in Dublin. Unfortunately, much of the trip was spoiled because of a few my episodes featuring arrogant and exasperated behaviors. I have a tendency to get carried away in the fantasy that I am composed almost entirely of worldly wisdom, and this superiority complex prevented me from entirely reveling in the love and comfort that visits from family bring.

To put it simply, everyone in my family loves to talk (a lot) and that can feel overwhelming to someone like me who has spent the last few months in welcomed solitude and pretentiously thriving in my own independence. I got unreasonably upset and embarrassed for things like walking too slow on the sidewalk or speaking too loudly in public and, this is the best one, talking about America too much. I spent a lot of my time stewing in my frustration, and forgot to acknowledge the precious time I had to spend with them. This was not being wise at all; I was impatient and uptight and pompous.

I compulsively compartmentalize my life that it was foreign for me to have to integrate family and my life abroad. Living in another part of the world can make segregating various chunks of your life very easy. I have discovered that this is dangerous; it makes room for detachment and dismisses a fluidity of foundational emotions and values.

So here is a formal apology to my family, and I’m sorry that I sometimes forget that I am not the Dalai Lama.