FRIENDSHIP and

Obviously, I respect missionaries. I would not be a good person if I didn’t.

But I also must confess, I have never quite entirely comprehended their zeal.

Possibly, my feeling goes back to a very early religion class when I was taught about that incredible gift God gave all of us, free will.

It was a lesson I have engraved on my psyche. Consequently, I have tried religiously never to insist on friend or family sharing my interests, my beliefs or even my dislikes.

I absolutely loathe creamed corn; yet it was one of my husband’s favorites. While I served it quite often, I rarely looked at the creamy concoction that I found so aberrant.

I tried to remain quiet if not supportive when my adult friends dressed in costume for Halloween. Since it’s my birthday, I can choose to refuse to join in and celebrate my natal day in a black dress and pearls, if I wish.

Meatloaf makes me inordinately uncomfortable. My imagination goes berserk when thinking about the ingredients. Yet for some obscure reason it became a family favorite and often appeared on our dinner table.. Did I eat it? Of course, not.

And I never ever said a word when a family member, beloved of course, talked endlessly about the Kardashian’s. After all, I do believe in free will even though admittedly, there are topics I will never understand.

So, dear friends, acquaintances and those I pass on this complicated road of life we share, please don’t tell me:

“I believe in recycling,”. Commendable, but I don’t care.

“I am religious.” Yes, so am I, but it is not a topic I wish to discuss.

“I am Republican.” Great, but let’s talk about something else.

“I voted for Hillary.” None of my business.

I suppose my negativity also describes an isolationist. I hope not. I just cannot find the degree of missionary energy or desire to inflict my opinions on others.

There are days when I find utter joy in the gray lurking clouds. They bring me a sense of comfort, for unknown reasons. I cannot expect my sun worshiping friends to understand this. Yet a dark, windswept afternoon gives me a comfort beyond description. It is akin to being wrapped in the arms of a loved one.

I find comfort in concrete buildings. Possibly this relates to an early childhood nestled in the warmth and security of a land cruelly named Hells Kitchen. Yet to me, a name that even a lifetime later signifies love, laughter and joy. How could I possibly expect others to remember or understand that magic time.

And so dear fellow travelers, I do respect your views. However, I just am happier not hearing about them. And, I, too, will try to keep my unorthodox opinions to myself. Let’s still be friends