To be

“We all know people…who are at loggerheads with existence; unhappy people who never get what they want; are baffled, complaining, who stand at an uncomfortable angle when they see everything askew. There are others again who, though they appear perfectly content, seem to have lost all touch with reality. They lavish all their affections upon little dogs and old china. They take interest in nothing but the vicissitudes of their own health and the ups and downs of social snobbery. There are, however, others who strike us, why precisely it would be difficult to say, as being by nature or circumstances in a position where they can use their faculties to the full upon things that are of importance. They are not necessarily happy or successful, but there is a zest in their presence, an interest in their doings. They seem to be alive all over.

– Virginia Woolf, “The Narrow Bridge of Art”; emphasis mine.

The text above, particularly the bolded portion, is what I aspire to be. Everything I do, and everything I do not do, filters down to that one thought.

I was in pain yesterday, so I did pretty much nothing. A short grocery run and dinner, preceded by naps. Plural. And it was nice, being lazy. I’m not often lazy. But I also felt frustrated because I was wasting my day. I have so very many things I want to accomplish, and so few hours in which to accomplish them. I’d rather not waste those hours sleeping, or playing games, or watching TV.

I want to be. And I want to do so to the best of my ability, over and over until I get it right.


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