I was an “overly sensitive” child according to almost all my elementary school teachers.
As a young adult, I read books and articles about sensitivity and learned little. I read a lot about what I already knew from my life, but not why I was sensitive. Most of what I read was not for sensitive people; instead, it was directed to people who had to co-exist with (highly) sensitive people.
In mid-life, I began to wonder if I was sensitive because of the unique circumstances of my life (see previous post). Or might my sensitivity be genetic?
My bosom-buddy, Dwight is sensitive and has a sensitive daughter who has been raised in a wonderful and loving home. I have concluded, therefore, that my sensitivity is not due to my upbringing. But to consider of genetic origin raises big questions.
If sensitivity is a trait valued to our species, if it is worth remembering to the human genome, what purpose does sensitivity serve humankind? Is sensitivity what fuels creativity? It’s a fair question—both Dwight and I are highly creative; I am compulsively so.
I took Dwight to lunch yesterday for his birthday. The above is what we talked about. Today, John is coming to pick me up to take Bunny and I for a long walk and lunch. My two bro’s on two consecutive days.
My sensitivity has me very aware that I am blessed to have these men in my life. As Dwight said at our lunch today: “We’re your family.”