There's something about flying, about looking down at the world from 40,000 feet that always tends to put me in a philosophical mood.
The past few months have tempted me to close myself off in so many ways. In crisis mode, it's self-protect, self-protect, self-protect, and avoid any and all situations that could potentially land me here again. It's living life on chronic defense: limit and/or eliminate all potential threats. But is that fair? Is it right? Is it really any way to live?
In Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, the main character, Newt Scamander, makes a simple comment that has stuck with me ever since I saw the movie: "My philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice." I've heard similar phrases an annoying number of times before, and most of the time I'll still tell you that "don't worry" are the two most useless words you can possibly say to an anxiety-prone person. Maybe it's because of how blunt this particular word order is, or maybe it's simply because it was written by J.K. Rowling -- regardless, and for some reason, this thought has stayed with me.
I could easily construct a shell. I could live in such a way as to eliminate as much potential for pain as possible. I could let worrying about whether or not I'll wind up hurt again dictate how I live my life. It's the safer option, and honestly, it's the more appealing one most of the time.
Or.
I could live with my heart wide open. I could allow this experience to open me up instead of close me off. I could do all the things that terrify me, knowing full well that I could eventually wind up hurt again. I could put myself out there and claim what is rightfully mine: life to the fullest.
I want to be the kind of person who believes the best in people. Who gives the benefit of the doubt. Whose vulnerability inspires vulnerability in other people. Who comes out on the other side of pain and heartache stronger, kinder, and braver instead of weak, bitter, and fearful.
I first came upon the following quote while reading Brené Brown's Daring Greatly, which I very highly recommend if you haven't read it. It paints a powerful picture and has really been challenging my way of thinking as of late.
"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly..."
- Theodore Roosevelt, "Citizenship in a Republic" (emphasis mine)
This is how I want to live my life: daring greatly. Bravely. Courageously. BIG. Closing myself off would serve no one, least of all me. Could I get hurt again? Sure. But something tells me it's a risk worth taking.
Disclaimer: this is not a consistent desire right now. Most of the time I still prefer the idea of closing myself off so I never have to feel anything this terrible ever again. But I'm working on it. I don't want to live scared. I don't want to operate primarily out of fear. What's the point of a life lived carefully? I want to heal and I want every good thing life has to offer me. I want the joy that matches this deep despair. And I'll get there.
I'm already on my way.
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