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.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
A Certain Kind of Freedom
If I could trust them to be themselves, believing they truly do know themselves better than I ever could, then I too would have greater freedom. It would be that freedom we acquire by giving up judgments not our own to make, only to be anxious about.
Labels:
anxiety,
freedom,
letting go,
trust
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