You know the cape. The one that comes from figuring when, how many times and how high to jump and then if you should do it with swagger or aplomb. Subtle difference, but rest assured, in the hand of the unstable, it is noticed and often punished should you choose incorrectly. And in adulthood, mostly punished by myself, because I have taken on the all too UNREAL expectations of my loved ones instead of laying them at the foot of the cross where all expectations belong.
I thought I had learned most of this, oh, I don't know, in 2007. See blog: The Dropping of the Basket.
And how many times more?
I'd like to say the cape has been destroyed, but it's a haunting, wasteful thing calling my name too often. But there is too much joy here for me to be weighed down with a man-made cape. Too much freedom offered by the real Rescuer, who knows the how and the when and the why.
I vow not to put it on again, until it's mended right.