Instead of trying to make your life perfect, give yourself the freedom to make it an adventure, and go ever upward.
I’ve found that the more time I spend worrying, nitpicking at little imperfections, things that do not go the way I want in exactly the step-by-step sequenced fashion in which I have oh so creatively envisioned them, the less I seem to enjoy life. It’s a pretty direct relationship.
I’ve also found myself to be peculiarly susceptible to attacks of the mind. More of me than I would care to admit consists of nothing more than pure thought. Parts of my being are basically figments of imagination. The concerns that weigh me down at night the conjurings of an invisible magician that has taken as his fortress the tallest tower in the castle of my brain. His influence exudes through the pores of my insecurity and whispers in the ear of my every weakness. Fear, as it has once been said, is false evidence appearing real. Even now the phantasmagoria of failure and chagrin plagues the air in which I dream. If only to break me from this tight grip of reality to which I cling as it truly exists. Not as some illusion of despondency but rather as an indiscriminate wall of stone cold potential. A wall to be scaled and overcome in response to its challenge of insurmountable toil. Whosoevereth chooses to climb me will be met with pain and suffering.
But that’s the stuff of life isn’t it? The grit that falls loose by power of the ascent will give us the strength to push through the hurt and the heart-wrenching ache of not knowing. We can see the future just over there and the past is flashing right here before our eyes. The present is a rather abstruse place on which to focus. It’s easy I think to misplace or lose it in the midst of everything swarming … SCREAMING for attention.
Sometimes I have to tell it all to shut up for a bit so that I can enjoy the wonder of my life in the moment.