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, November 12, 2014
Mastering the Cliché
I am mastering the cliché. I am becoming good at stating the obvious. I have an ability to see what everyone else does, and to say so. I do not even need to make it appear profound. I do not even need to take credit for all this simplicity. I think it may be progress.
Labels:
acceptance,
needs,
progress
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