It's impossible to live without regret. People who say this are lying to you; they are lying to themselves. But I'd rather regret the things I have done than regret the things I haven't.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Mistakes are never fatal, unless you're dealing with heavy machinery
I hope the mistakes you make don't make you afraid to make them again. That you choose to live passionately, spontaneously, and throw caution to the wind. If your mistakes teach you to be careful, to shut yourself off from experiences that might hurt you, to look twice before you leap...then I hope you never learn from them.
It's impossible to live without regret. People who say this are lying to you; they are lying to themselves. But I'd rather regret the things I have done than regret the things I haven't.
It's impossible to live without regret. People who say this are lying to you; they are lying to themselves. But I'd rather regret the things I have done than regret the things I haven't.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
The Invitation
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hid it or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
--Oriah Mountain Dreamer
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hid it or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
--Oriah Mountain Dreamer
Saturday, April 17, 2010
The Story
You know those adventure books you read as a kid that would give you a decision to make, and you’d have to turn to a different page of the book to continue on your journey? I used to have a Mario Brothers one where I was supposed to save the princess, and I’d always cheat and try to figure out the best series of decisions that would give me the best outcome. If I fell in a pit because I decided to choose turning left down the spooky trail, instead of turning right near the lake of lava, I’d just quickly flip back to where I had to make a choice—and choose the other one.
In this thing called “reality” that I have to occasionally remind myself I live in, I wonder which pivotal decisions I’d flip back to and do differently. Those moments—the ones I know completely changed things—I wonder what I’d pick to do now, if I knew turning left has me falling into a pit in 5 pages.
It took me a while to realize that even with all my cheating, I never found the perfect path in my Mario Brothers adventure book. And going back to change my decisions not only made the story more confusing, but it also kinda killed the fun of reading the book.
In this thing called “reality” that I have to occasionally remind myself I live in, I wonder which pivotal decisions I’d flip back to and do differently. Those moments—the ones I know completely changed things—I wonder what I’d pick to do now, if I knew turning left has me falling into a pit in 5 pages.
It took me a while to realize that even with all my cheating, I never found the perfect path in my Mario Brothers adventure book. And going back to change my decisions not only made the story more confusing, but it also kinda killed the fun of reading the book.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Oh the places you'll go
It just hit me.
I leave for Cape Town in a little over a month. A MONTH. When does life slow down?
Our first group meeting with everyone going to Cape Town put me back to the first Rwanda meeting--the pizza, the awkward introductions and "interesting facts," the review of what to pack, and the palpable excitement of the certain adventures and unknown experiences we were all going to have.
Remembering that first Rwanda meeting, I never could have predicted what my summer had in store for me. Looking around the room today brought back that spark of excitement that can only come from the knowledge that something huge is about to transpire.
Today was a crashing mash up of everything amazing. After the Cape Town meeting, I went to hear Fatou Bensouda, Deputy Prosecutor of the ICC who we met in The Hague over the summer, and was thrilled, comforted, and overwhelmingly beyond happy to see so many people from our Rwanda group. Speaking with her afterwards was not only thrilling, but also reaffirmed the importance of being a witness to these horrific events. Fatou embodies the power that individual people have to make a change in the world, and why it is so important to me to live in the places of the world the rest of us would rather not be reminded exist. Places like Rwanda, where today commemorates the beginning of the 100 day genocide in 1994, or Kenya, where election violence threatens democracy, or the DRC, where women are constant victims of rape and exploitation, or South Africa, where the consequences of apartheid continue to this day.
Sorry Dad, but Cape Town is just the first (I guess second?) step.
Because after Rwanda, I saw how much it had changed me. Not only in my broader understanding and interest of the world and politics, but in the way I saw myself working within this obnoxiously complicated system. The way I approached problems and other people changed, I refused to let go of what was important to me, and I struggled to find a balance between my life here and now and my future goals and expectations. This has been a hard semester. 18 credit hours has been exhausting, my emotions have been intensely on edge, I've been reminded of the power of forgiveness and I've accepted I sometimes make mistakes. Sometimes it feels like I'm going to Cape Town simply to run away.
But then I remember why I wanted to go to Cape Town in the first place, and it feels like I'm running towards something instead.
I leave for Cape Town in a little over a month. A MONTH. When does life slow down?
Our first group meeting with everyone going to Cape Town put me back to the first Rwanda meeting--the pizza, the awkward introductions and "interesting facts," the review of what to pack, and the palpable excitement of the certain adventures and unknown experiences we were all going to have.
Remembering that first Rwanda meeting, I never could have predicted what my summer had in store for me. Looking around the room today brought back that spark of excitement that can only come from the knowledge that something huge is about to transpire.
Today was a crashing mash up of everything amazing. After the Cape Town meeting, I went to hear Fatou Bensouda, Deputy Prosecutor of the ICC who we met in The Hague over the summer, and was thrilled, comforted, and overwhelmingly beyond happy to see so many people from our Rwanda group. Speaking with her afterwards was not only thrilling, but also reaffirmed the importance of being a witness to these horrific events. Fatou embodies the power that individual people have to make a change in the world, and why it is so important to me to live in the places of the world the rest of us would rather not be reminded exist. Places like Rwanda, where today commemorates the beginning of the 100 day genocide in 1994, or Kenya, where election violence threatens democracy, or the DRC, where women are constant victims of rape and exploitation, or South Africa, where the consequences of apartheid continue to this day.
Sorry Dad, but Cape Town is just the first (I guess second?) step.
Because after Rwanda, I saw how much it had changed me. Not only in my broader understanding and interest of the world and politics, but in the way I saw myself working within this obnoxiously complicated system. The way I approached problems and other people changed, I refused to let go of what was important to me, and I struggled to find a balance between my life here and now and my future goals and expectations. This has been a hard semester. 18 credit hours has been exhausting, my emotions have been intensely on edge, I've been reminded of the power of forgiveness and I've accepted I sometimes make mistakes. Sometimes it feels like I'm going to Cape Town simply to run away.
But then I remember why I wanted to go to Cape Town in the first place, and it feels like I'm running towards something instead.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
