Sacrifice. It’s not the longest or most complex word in the English language-but it definitely bears a lot of weight. People often put compromise and sacrifice together-almost as if they are interchangeable. I personally don’t see how you can do that. To me, compromise means there is a give and take between two people. It’s almost like a half-sacrifice. It’s like saying: “I will limit my weekend social calendar to spend more quality time with you and then in turn you will limit the late nights at work to spend quality time with me.”
It’s a two-sided thing. Sacrifice, on the other hand, is giving something/someone up cold turkey.
It’s an amputation. As I am getting older and learning about the intricacies of life, I am beginning to realize that compromise doesn’t always cut it…there comes a point where you need to put on your big girl panties and suck it up.

You have to be willing to sacrifice in order to persevere something directly connected to that decision. Sacrifice is hard and it hurts and it takes conscious effort and constant control. I am currently in a situation where I know that sacrifice is needed because there is a bigger picture to take into consideration. My little revelation came about while enjoying a nice cold beer and some sushi. I began to realize that I need to think outside myself and outside my little fantasy world. Now, I’m not talking about concrete “thing” I have to give up. It’s a dream, it’s feelings…a perfectly construed fantasy. But don’t let that fool you! For those of you out there who have less control over their hearts let alone their minds. Imagination-you know how hard it is to force your mind to change gears and block certain things out because you know it’s for your own good. Like love, But this is what I have to do. I am fully aware that I over analyze and over think almost everything. That said-I would much rather be like that than what I blindly blunder on following a feeling, a connection that quite possibly is just all in my head.
I have to set aside the “But what if” and the butterflies doing acrobatics in my stomach and I have to see it for what it is, and not what I want it to be. See, that’s me, already at the finish line collecting my medal when we haven’t even started the race yet. I think it’s because I am older now and where I’ve been thinking of what I want in my life and I have to stop wasting my time. There’s no more games and foolishness with my heart. And there are also others involved-this isn’t a solo picture, again!. I won’t lie, it hurts and I am actually tearing up a bit right now. Because in my mind, it would have been perfect (or as close to perfect as things can be) It’s horrible when you’re the one to burst your own bubble. I would rather someone else do it-knowing pain is coming is much worse than unexpected pain. There is no shock factor to numb a bit of the pain just anticipation of what’s about to come. I would liken this pain to waxing. The first pull is fine…the next one…not so much! But pull that strip of cloth I must. I can handle it. Hell, I have been through worse. Now I need to make a conscious effort.
I have to remove myself from the situation and train my mind to create a bit of a shield for those hours of the day of sly glances, sweet words, G’morning/G’night texts and the moments where my mind said no but my heart said yes. And I will do all of this with love, because the good of this little sacrificial act is far greater than the act itself.
This is my promise, This is my sacrifice, This is my farewell.


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