Old dreams
“The old dreams were good dreams. They didn’t work out, but I’m glad I had them.”
The Bridges of Madison County (1995)
Remembering a relationship—one chat at a time
Nearly four years later, I sometimes type his email address in the search box in my Gmail. Hundreds of results pop up, and I’ll pick a few at random to read. The ease of our everyday interactions is what kills me. The way we spoke to each other about what I’d bring home for dinner or whether it was a PBR or a Grolsch kind of night. In nearly every conversation, there is something that releases the pressure from my chest by forcing a giant laugh.
Read the whole article here: http://www.good.is/post/chat-history/
You are the result of yourself—Pablo Neruda
You Are The Result Of Yourself
Don’t blame anyone, never complain of anyone or anything
Because basically you have made of your life what you wanted.
Accept the difficulties of edifying yourself
And the worth of starting to correct your character.
The triumph of the true man arises from the ashes of his mistakes.
Never complain of your loneliness or your luck.
Face it with courage and accept it.
Somehow, they are the result of your acts and
It shows that you’ll always win.
Don’t feel frustrated of your own failures, neither unload them to someone else.
Accept yourself now or you’ll go on justifying yourself like a child.
Remember that any time is good to start
And that no time is so good to give up.
Don’t forget that the cause of your present is your past,
As the cause of your future will be your present.
Learn from the brave, from the strong,
From who doesn’t accept situations
From who will live in spite of everything.
Think less of your problems and more of your work.
Learn to arise from your pain,
And to be greater than the greatest of your obstacles.
Look at the mirror of yourself and you’ll be free and strong
And you’ll stop being a puppet of circumstances.
For you yourself are your destiny.
Wake up and stare at the sun in the mornings and breathe the sun of dawn.
You’re part of the strength of your life now,
Rise up, fight, walk, be sure and you’ll win in life.
Don’t ever think of ‘fate’
For fate is the excuse of failures.
“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”
― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves
“Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure — these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”
Steve Jobs
“
“I am nothing special, of this I am sure. I am a common man with common thoughts and I’ve led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I’ve loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough..”
― Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook
“
Before you exit
The spark is gone and my past is dead.
I still have hope for the road ahead.
Time has jumped off the clock on my wall.
Since then I haven’t received a call from you, from you.
You’ve seen the dark and you’ve seen the light,
the sides of me that I’m trying to fight.
I’m bruised and I’m broken, I’m made of glass.
I shine for a moment, but I shatter fast.
From the song ‘How it’s always been’
A subtle kind of love—Jake Christie
A SUBTLE KIND OF LOVE.
a story.
a story.
He loved her in a distant kind of way, the same way the sun heats the Earth. If she were to disappear completely, he knew through pure logic that it would have no great, disastrous effect on him. He would not cease to be; he would not stop breathing; his heart would not stop beating; the world would not stop spinning. The sun would keep shining, radiating heat, if the Earth were not there. On a certain, purely physical level, her absence would have absolutely zero effect on his person.
And yet…
He loved her in an abstract kind of way, the way a bee loves honey. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to love her, but he wanted to love her just the same. Maybe somebody told him once that he should be in love with somebody, so he felt a need to pick somebody and it just so happened to be her. Maybe. Being in love was nice, sure, but he didn’t need to be.
And yet…
He loved her in a removed kind of way, the way a butterfly’s wings can start a tsunami halfway around the world. He knew that it had an effect on her, but he wasn’t sure how great. On a certain level he was aware that if he were to stop, if he were to disappear, it would have a drastic effect. For him it would be one less flap of his wings, in a manner of speaking, if such a thing were possible without him falling from the sky.
And yet…
He loved her in a subtle kind of way. It wasn’t the kind of love you see in movies, with swelling music and giant gestures and running through the streets to catch a departing train. It wasn’t the kind of love that Byron or Shakespeare wrote about, with flowery language and hyperbole and iambic pentameter. It was still and deep, like water that you might mistake for shallow if you just watched the surface. It was entirely his, not dependent on her own feelings for him, and it would still be there whether she, or him, or everyone else on the world disappeared. It was a subtle kind of love, but it was true.
And she loved him just the same.
____________________________________________
A story by Jake Christie
