Coming to you live from the safety of my bubble

I live in a bubble.  In my bubble, bad things don't happen to good people.  There is no war here, and close family members don't die, unless it's of old age.  My bubble is big enough for my family, but some members don't choose to stay inside.  It's too confining, I suppose, but I don't mind.

I think it might have begun with my small-town upbringing.  Although we were behind the times in that tiny little community, we also knew all of our neighbors and could ride our bike 2 miles to town with no fears of anything bad happening.  It just didn't happen there.  There were also my parents.  How many people can say their parents are still happily married at my age?  No divorce, no abuse, no hatred lived there.  Mom cooked hot meals, dad worked hard, and we had everything we needed.  That was the beginning of my bubble.

Now my bubble has two purposes.  It is a protection for my psyche.  My feelings are hurt so easily, and my heart aches for every sad story I hear.  I cry at Hallmark commercials, for heavens sake!  If I stay in the bubble, I don't have to acknowledge the sad things going on in the world.  Strike up a conversation about the war and I'll think a good thought for our boys, then comment on the weather.  It's nice in the bubble.

Am I avoiding reality?  Maybe, but I don't think so.  I just view these things from the bubble, which casts a nice warm glow to what I see.  Don't worry.  If you get too overwhelmed by the world around you, I will let you in my bubble.  Just please, don't do ANYTHING to pop it.  Promise?

That is the way, that is the ONLY way, I am able to raise kids in this crazy world today.