Sometimes I forget how difficult it is to be a rather old-fashioned girl. Life swims along, swirling me in its wake, and for a time my old-fashioned nature is...well...not forgotten, precisely, but irrelevant. Still there, in the back of my mind, at the base of my being, but unspoken, quiescent.

And then in the midst of all this simple swimming, something will happen to rouse that part of me, to make me keenly aware of how very separate I am from everyone around me. And then I can't think of anything *but* how difficult it is to be an old-fashioned girl. And how lonely. 'Twould be easier, I sometimes think, if I doubted myself. If I thought there was something wrong with my beliefs or my faith. 'Twould be easier, too, if those who shared some of those beliefs also shared my faith. Or vice versa. And 'twould be much easier, indeed, if those who shared either also shared a willingness to deny judgement of those who don't agree with them.

Actually, life would probably be easier all the way 'round if people in general didn't greet the failures or mistakes or differences in opinion of those around them with gleeful, sniping derision. There's a world of difference, I think, between thinking someone is wrong and rejoicing in that wrongness. The latter is in truth self-righteousness. And despite seemingly popular opinion, neither acceptance nor personal values are compromised by the former, as long as that same self-righteousness doesn't interfere.

This world doesn't encourage graciousness, though, does it?

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