Flowers don’t worry about how they’re going to bloom. They just open up and turn toward the light. That’s what makes them beautiful.
— Jim Carrey
Worry’s on my mind lately, along with my usual worries.
It’s otiose to worry about worrying, but sometimes it’s like not thinking about a pink-polka-dotted elephant. The mind can’t stop the idea once it’s been placed. Not unless you put another, bigger, better one in there.
Planning is the antidote to worrying. But replacing the negative worrying with the positive planning is a zero-sum game. These two in tandem are a sine curve with zero progress. Zero is an interesting “number” but a very boring state to occupy. In order to achieve positive lift you have to execute plans.
You have to live.
And maybe, once you get really good at living, the positive lift turns into flight. And then you Jonathan Livingston Seagull the hell out of the rest of it.
“You will begin to touch heaven, Jonathan, in the moment that you touch perfect speed. And that isn’t flying a thousand miles an hour, or a million, or flying at the speed of light. Because any number is a limit, and perfection doesn’t have limits. Perfect speed, my son, is being there.”
–Richard Bach Jonathan Livingston Seagull
Yesterday, my worries stopped me from jumping on a box. I swung my arms…
And I stopped. I swung my arms…
And I stopped.
Times at least eight but probably eleven.
24 inches: I knew I could do it. I’d done it when I was weaker, fatigued-er, frustrated-er, timid-er, and littler in mind, body, and spirit. But that beautiful Saturday morning in the humid air of Trident Crossfit, the box was beating me.
The hero, DD, was red-shirting, and he told me to jump. I tried. He yelled
Startled, I did. And I landed 24 inches higher, on that plywood box that seemed tall as a wall. He got in my head and I let him drive.
I think that when the mind is free, the body is free, and these forms with which we touch the world become one with our souls.
When this happens, we are not just souls which have minds to think with and bodies to act with; minds and bodies are not things we have. We become persons, instruments of life: soul, mind, and body indistinguishable and indivisible. The tools of action become the actor; or, perhaps, the act.
He was not bone and feather but a perfect idea of freedom and flight, limited by nothing at all
–Richard Bach, Jonathan Livingston Seagull
In sum, open up and turn toward the light. Bloom. Jump on a box.
p.s. I denied a sustained compulsion to pepper four letter words throughout. If you care to read the colorful version, let me know.
Poetry reading haha.