No. If I give in now, I will deny all the thirty years that I have lived to make me what I chose to be.
The book: Light in August by William Faulkner
I can’t believe I’ve made it to this point, with “this point” being significant not to anyone but me.
The lessons I’ve learned, from simply holding myself accountable to posting for each week, probably invaluable to anyone else but me, as well, but damn, if there’s one thing:
I cannot stress how much it is about the small victories.
When life is confusing, when it is hard, or weary or burdensome or draining. When you’re reminded that any one thing you say can be interpreted a thousand different ways by a thousand different people, each formulating his / her own judgments about you: who you are and all you’ll ever be. When you do it to yourself. Sometimes your own judgments and opinions of yourself are the harshest things of which you’ll ever subject yourself. Or, other times, when you’ll reach points where life events, such as death or failure will inevitably occur, and you must cope. And by cope, I mean harness it and utilize it. The sheer act of living is an art, and with all forms of art, you must revel in its toils to be rewards its spoils.
When you are amidst the toils of working, of creating, of living, is when it is about grit and discipline and venturing forward. The small wins are what will get you through to the next pivot point. And then the next. Life is full of pivot points. Each day is one decision after another leading to infinite possibilities and lives unlived.
This life that we are living is full of victories.
Memory Moment Forty Three.
Next Week: The War of Art by Steven Pressfield