My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
The Myth of Strength
There is a myth, the myth of strength. It says the less we feel the stronger we are. It says people should show no emotion; no tears, no laughter. It frowns equally on tenderness and fear. Because it is myth, it is an attempt to say what is not real. Despite its lack of reality, it has any number of subscribers. They think, or have been told, it is what should be and so they try living in the myth, hiding or denying what is. They think they are being strong when they are being dead. A myth is a poor trade when we prefer it to life.
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