There is less need to hurry, less need to achieve. It used to be important to have someone hear what I needed to say. Then it was important just to have said it. Now, neither the saying nor the hearing is essential. There is to life less time and that is a satisfying rather than a threatening notion. It is easier now to settle into being and not feeling driven to become. Accomplishing is not a priority. Narrowing into the moment, but needing to do nothing about it, is becoming more the norm than was the sometimes-frenzied drive to leave a mark on the world, and to have it be known as mine.
I am not anxious to have it be over, but were life to end it would be O.K. It would not be important that no one beyond this small circle would ever notice my absence, and I will be no less satisfied than I might have been had more youthful dreams actually followed. There really wasn't the need to become the new Francis Xavier, John Carboy, Martin Luther, or anyone else. To have become them would be repeating what had already been and there really was no need for that. I can instead be grateful for this moment, as grateful as I have been for many that preceded it, and in this moment I can sometimes find all that life could contain.
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, September 17, 2014
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