I'm Not Compassionate

Did you know that?  I'm not compassionate.  Occasionally I am, given the right set of circumstances and people.  I'm not overly touchy-feely.  Nor wishy-washy.  I don't put up with excuses or delays or blah blah blah.  I call things as I see them, verbally many times.  And on my face and in my emotions other times.

I had an encounter over the transition into the new year -- which I'm calling Lucky '13 by the way.  The encounter was unexpected and completely out of the blue.  I was told that I'm not compassionate and that some people will spend their lives trying to earn my approval.  My approval is hard to come by, just for the record.  I actually don't even consider those sorts of thoughts except on a very rare basis.  But that's the problem, apparently.  I don't consider it.

I'm just me.  Black and white.  Sensible.  Able to see processes and procedures easily and am not enamored with diversions to get where I'm going.  I would say that more than half of the world is in the way of where I want to go.  Not a lot of fluff or patting on the back.  I'm a get things done sort of guy.  If you want a problem solved, you'll come to me.  If you want to simply talk about solving a problem, you won't come to me.  I expect everyone to pull themselves up by the boot straps and stay focused.  I know, I know....a big ethereal sort of nonrealistic vision.  But I'm relatively comfortable right there. 

So I start Lucky '13 with a new set of accusations.  Ones that I've known about for a very long time.  Ones, even, that I think about from time to time.  None of the finger-pointing at me was a surprise.  You see, I have lived with myself for nearly 51 years now.  I know myself quite well.  And I'm nearly completely comfortable there.  But these things do cause a moment for pause and reflection.  And when the new year is still so fresh, reflection is paramount.