Sarah Dale The Opposite of Good

The Opposite of Good

Here comes the great upheaval, with a red-hot capital M, insisting that I put my house in order. Old age is not for sissies, and I want to live my life in colour to the end of my days.

I was always good at being good. My grandmother and mother were before me. School, church, professional bodies, mother, daughter, wife (twice).

Good means compliant, reliable, polite. Good means colossal striving to do everything right.

I am knackered.

Lately, I discover that the opposite of good is not bad. It does not mean a helter-skelter middle-aged descent into drugs, affairs, law-breaking recklessness and going on the run. The appeal of bad blows out like a match in high winds.

The opposite of good is real.

A crampon-steep learning curve to fight my corner. Say no. Yes. I want. I don’t want. I need. To stand still with difficult truths in hurricane force unknowns. Real is love and death and anger and joy. Sadness, regret and delight. All the colours.