I wish I was spiritually evolved enough to roll with life’s punches and “see the lesson” in them as they hit. I am not. I ruminate more than I should over woundings and insults whether they are hurled intentionally or not.

The house build behind us is moving forward. I did everything I could to intervene and stop it. I stalled it by a month but my overall attempt has failed. The house markers have been set in the ground. A white pickup truck with an engineering logo on its side doors regularly visits the property no doubt finalizing the build strategy. The Wildlife Commission wrote an email this week to say there is no gopher tortoise violation on the “subject property” as I had hoped.

The die – as they say – appear to have been cast.

Part of me thinks this is instant karma. Punishment from the Universe for cutting a real estate agent we’d been working with – no binding contract but more of an implicit arrangement – out of the closing. We had to move fast and efficiently to get the house, I reckoned. Part of me knows I am rationalizing.

Fear-based thinking. Again.

There was a something that lingered in the air above this house deal though. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. That may sound a little too flakey for most of you. It is too flakey and “oooie, oooie” for me to take seriously. But I wonder.

I think of all the ways in which this development could be worse. I think of the chaos and upheaval of Israelis and Palestinians preparing for the savagery of war. I reflect on seeing an arm uncovered in the rubble of that Gaza hospital and the horrible news that will be delivered to a family. Many families in this case. I think about Ukrainians returning to where their family homes once stood and learn they have been obliterated by bombs.

My troubles are so small by comparison. Miniscule. But they are my troubles. I feel I need to stand up for them and give them their emotional due. I spent years ignoring and diminishing hurtful events in my life. They just backed up inside of me.

I would explode disproportionately when some other minor insult triggered the backed up, unhealed hurt inside of me. The earlier hurt hadn’t been dealt with so it could dissipate. It had merely gone underground waiting to rear its ugly head when triggered – usually by a more minor threat by a relatively innocent bystander.

It is common for people to ignore or diminish troubles of others when those troubles don’t affect them personally. There is a human tendency to feel a sense of sympathy and concern about others’ misfortunes and an equal measure of relief because it isn’t happening to them.

We all encounter problems on our journey in life. Mostly we are thankful when someone else’s tragedy does not touch our own life. When tragedy does strike us, we pray for the grace and strength to face and overcome it. It is one of life’s toughest learnings.

People are not comfortable generally with strong feelings. Either their own or someone else’s. We like our shared illusion of a calm and stable society.

If strong feelings were easily accepted and as easily processed, the booze and illicit drug business would collapse. Angry people are called “hysterical” unless the listener has buy-in with the issue people are angry about. I think of Trump and his legions of followers who eagerly slurp up his incessant brand of outrage over hard done by “patriots” like him.

It is so automatic to shush a child who is crying healing tears. It is common to accuse a woman of “being dramatic” when a sudden, inconceivable loss bends her in half convulsed in tears. Or her husband has beaten her senseless and is holding her children hostage in a bitter custody case.

Unbelievably, Alex Jones accused grieving Sandy Hook parents of delusion when their children were mowed down by a madman toting an AR-15. Jones finally came to justice but not before numerous grieving parents were tortured and belittled by Jones’ ardent followers.

The insinuation of grief creeps slowly into our lives. It is easier to manage when we are young, we reason, because we are more resilient. We can certainly move on faster. When we’re older, the processing of grief is usually more internal. “Stiff, upper lip” syndrome comes into play.

Loss is a fact of life. Some losses we can easily identify and readily relate to. Other losses are more personal and nuanced. How we learn to handle loss is spread across a very wide continuum.

So I accept that I am on a grieving path. For trees. And a view. And a dream of peace and solitude that will soon be irrevocably shattered. Does it matter in the grand scheme of things? Of course not. But does it matter to me? Absolutely.

I have learned that self-love and self-respect means owning all of our feelings and failings and giving them their due until they have been integrated into your heart and psyche. Life is not an endless series of “happy, happy, happy.” I challenge anyone to show me someone whose life is.

Change is inevitable and pain is manageable. I take this recent loss as another opportunity to apply what I’ve learned about managing disappointment. And of course, I wish I didn’t have to. I’m only human, after all.