Mary Rose writes an inspiring post to her family — an ode to life, half-empty, half-full and beyond measure.
To My Family:
Sometimes, we doubt ourselves. We feel like perhaps we have not done what we hoped to have done by this “point in our lives.” We feel the pressure of the tock-ticking clock. We get down on ourselves for our “failures.” We put “now” on hold so that we can make room to stare into the past and worry about the future. Misery camps out on the sidelines of everything we do when we allow ourselves to be imprisoned by this kind of thinking.
In the world of half-empty and half-full cups, I would say I carry a very large cup, and seek to overflow it at all times — a method of living that has brought me much criticism. But I don’t ever want to feel like I cannot see the potential for fullness. I cannot un-see what I have seen, or un-be who I am, so in this measured world, I am vulnerable to self-denigration. The categories of halves and cup sizes and bigger/better boots just don’t seem to fit me, and I’ll admit, it does confuse and depress me sometimes.
If I were to compare myself with my family, insecurity would eat me alive. If I were judging myself based on superficial things, or if I saw myself in terms of what lies on the surface, I would be lost.
My whole family is amazingly accomplished, which makes me very proud. They grab the bull by the horns and do not let go until the bull submits. They live completely. They take the negative feedback, the doubt and fear, and they forge paths that, in my opinion, prove that with a bendy imagination, a sense of humour, and a positive attitude, impossible is just a word unimaginative people use.
So what do I do? What makes me feel the brilliance of possibility even in dark moments?
I live with gratitude, humility and patience. I try to be kind and compassionate. I do not judge others. I am ruthless in loving discipline and carefully assert that we can all be better to each other.
I say what needs to be said. Each day, when I see into the infinite maw of time, I see a memorial poem — an ode to life itself.
Maybe that sounds like nothing — but to me, it makes me every bit as accomplished as those I admire the most, which erases all doubt and sets me free from all prisons.
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