I just had a conversation with a friend, and it was miraculously coherent; I'm pretty sure God was keeping me awake and putting eloquent phrases into my mouth because I've been half asleep since about 4 PM. Anyway, while I was talking to my dear friend, she mentioned her fear of imminent failure and how that was holding her back. It got me to thinking, and about two seconds ago my brain said, "failure is a stepping stone- failure is enlightenment." Because when it all comes down to it, we can't pick ourselves up unless we've fallen, right? So failure is a vehicle, nothing but an effective and vivid teaching medium. At the end of it all, at least I'll know how things turned out.
So.
As disaster precedes illumination and I can always pick myself back up, I vow henceforth never to fear failure, but to embrace it, learn from it, and move on.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Doth Not Happiness and Hanson Begin Both With a Letter?
Oh, summer love songs! I thought I was going to get pulled over last night for shattering the noise ordinance in Cedar Hills (what? It could happen). I'm pretty sure I blew out my back speakers.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Kenmore Be Said?
The refrigerator in the garage is an interesting place to store sentiment, and yet, that's what I found when I went looking for a water bottle the other day. With its stainless steel double doors flung wide, I could see what hid behind its unassuming facade. This fridge is a relic, a talisman, a symbol of the life I used to lead. But its station in the garage, along with its formerly forbidden contents, illustrate the difference, highlight the expanse between past and present.
The cold air that rushed into the stifling summer heat could not distract from the garish white interior, stripped of its former gloriously unorganized usefulness. Too-large cases of off brand soda could not, try as they might, fill the emptiness.
My mother would disapprove of the steak in the wrong side of the meat/cheese drawer. She would disapprove of the sugary drinks and the excess bottles of milk. Yet there they were in her meticulously clean refrigerator- new habits, new tastes, new life nestled uncomfortably in one of the remaining standards of The House, or the dream it represented.
I closed the doors abruptly. Were it not for the water bottle clutched in my hand, I would have forgotten why I trekked out there in the first place.
The garage is a bit of a sanctuary now, in my mind. At its heart, sealed in a metal box, the juxtaposition of everything I lost and all that I'm learning to love (or live with).
~~~
Recorded 7/7/10
The cold air that rushed into the stifling summer heat could not distract from the garish white interior, stripped of its former gloriously unorganized usefulness. Too-large cases of off brand soda could not, try as they might, fill the emptiness.
My mother would disapprove of the steak in the wrong side of the meat/cheese drawer. She would disapprove of the sugary drinks and the excess bottles of milk. Yet there they were in her meticulously clean refrigerator- new habits, new tastes, new life nestled uncomfortably in one of the remaining standards of The House, or the dream it represented.
I closed the doors abruptly. Were it not for the water bottle clutched in my hand, I would have forgotten why I trekked out there in the first place.
The garage is a bit of a sanctuary now, in my mind. At its heart, sealed in a metal box, the juxtaposition of everything I lost and all that I'm learning to love (or live with).
Recorded 7/7/10
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)