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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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@dianelinsullivan-blog
Mirror
I dressed in my nicest clothes And climbed to the top of the mountain To visit the famous monk To request a wish for my future When I reached the top I met a mere mortal Who was charming and wise Yet like a mirror As I looked in deeper I saw myself as I truly was But a girl with a dream On a long journey over the horizon I turned to thank the monk for this gift But they were no longer there It was just me And nature’s road ahead
"The history of ideas is chiefly told to us through books. We therefore forget that the world’s big ideas were also hatched in particular places: Virginia Woolf thought up the idea of a ‘room of her own’ in her study in Sussex (which had a window overlooking a delightful rose garden), Marcel Proust thought up his theories on travel in the Gare du Nord in Paris, Edward Hopper discovered modern loneliness in a particular American diner…"
Young Hunter S. Thompson's advice on how to find your purpose and live a meaningful life
To give advice to a man who asks what to do with his life implies something very close to egomania. To presume to point a man to the right and ultimate goal — to point with a trembling finger in the RIGHT direction is something only a fool would take upon himself. “To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles…” And indeed, that IS the question: whether to float with the tide, or to swim for a goal. It is a choice we must all make consciously or unconsciously at one time in our lives. So few people understand this! Think of any decision you’ve ever made which had a bearing on your future: I may be wrong, but I don’t see how it could have been anything but a choice however indirect — between the two things I’ve mentioned: the floating or the swimming. The answer — and, in a sense, the tragedy of life — is that we seek to understand the goal and not the man. We set up a goal which demands of us certain things: and we do these things. We adjust to the demands of a concept which CANNOT be valid. When you were young, let us say that you wanted to be a fireman. I feel reasonably safe in saying that you no longer want to be a fireman. Why? Because your perspective has changed. It’s not the fireman who has changed, but you. Every man is the sum total of his reactions to experience. As your experiences differ and multiply, you become a different man, and hence your perspective changes. This goes on and on. Every reaction is a learning process; every significant experience alters your perspective. So it would seem foolish, would it not, to adjust our lives to the demands of a goal we see from a different angle every day? How could we ever hope to accomplish anything other than galloping neurosis? The answer, then, must not deal with goals at all, or not with tangible goals, anyway. It would take reams of paper to develop this subject to fulfillment. God only knows how many books have been written on “the meaning of man” and that sort of thing, and god only knows how many people have pondered the subject. (I use the term “god only knows” purely as an expression.)* There’s very little sense in my trying to give it up to you in the proverbial nutshell, because I’m the first to admit my absolute lack of qualifications for reducing the meaning of life to one or two paragraphs. To put our faith in tangible goals would seem to be, at best, unwise. So we do not strive to be firemen, we do not strive to be bankers, nor policemen, nor doctors. WE STRIVE TO BE OURSELVES. But don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean that we can’t BE firemen, bankers, or doctors—but that we must make the goal conform to the individual, rather than make the individual conform to the goal. In every man, heredity and environment have combined to produce a creature of certain abilities and desires—including a deeply ingrained need to function in such a way that his life will be MEANINGFUL. A man has to BE something; he has to matter. As I see it then, the formula runs something like this: a man must choose a path which will let his ABILITIES function at maximum efficiency toward the gratification of his DESIRES. In doing this, he is fulfilling a need (giving himself identity by functioning in a set pattern toward a set goal) he avoids frustrating his potential (choosing a path which puts no limit on his self-development), and he avoids the terror of seeing his goal wilt or lose its charm as he draws closer to it (rather than bending himself to meet the demands of that which he seeks, he has bent his goal to conform to his own abilities and desires). In short, he has not dedicated his life to reaching a pre-defined goal, but he has rather chosen a way of life he KNOWS he will enjoy. The goal is absolutely secondary: it is the functioning toward the goal which is important. And it seems almost ridiculous to say that a man MUST function in a pattern of his own choosing; for to let another man define your own goals is to give up one of the most meaningful aspects of life — the definitive act of will which makes a man an individual. A man who procrastinates in his CHOOSING will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance. So if you now number yourself among the disenchanted, then you have no choice but to accept things as they are, or to seriously seek something else. But beware of looking for goals: look for a way of life. Decide how you want to live and then see what you can do to make a living WITHIN that way of life. But you say, “I don’t know where to look; I don’t know what to look for.” And there’s the crux. Is it worth giving up what I have to look for something better? I don’t know—is it? Who can make that decision but you? But even by DECIDING TO LOOK, you go a long way toward making the choice. I’m not trying to send you out “on the road” in search of Valhalla, but merely pointing out that it is not necessary to accept the choices handed down to you by life as you know it. There is more to it than that — no one HAS to do something he doesn’t want to do for the rest of his life.
What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? Because you cannot tame something so happily wild.
Today was a rough day but it ended well especially with this red apple.
You are my silence, my end-of-the-day respite from the needful world. And yet, all I want is your voice, your need, your… riotous body interrupting mine.
Peregrine (via youreyesblazeout)
The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive. It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human. It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, 'Yes.' It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
This video shows the 10 steps of the creative process. It is makes you realize you are not alone in what you go through, will help you plan better and work better with Creatives. Remember to "enjoy the process."
How to survive the rules of the road. Yes to vintage infographics.
"What is the nature of the search? you ask. Really it is very simple; at least for a fellow like me. So simple that it is easily overlooked. The search is what anyone would undertake if he were not sunk in the everydayness of his own life."
The moviegoer quotes,
WILD by Cheryl Strayed
I just finished a memoir of a 26 year woman who was super low and mixed up. She had led what one would call a reckless life also she unfortunately had just separated from her husband and her mother just passed. Right after all this happens to her she decides to go on a search for radical aloneness by hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. The author is a fierce and funny woman and there are so many wise thoughts throughout. I wanted to post some of my favorite quotes in hopes that you'll check out this book too. "What if I forgave myself? I thought. What if I forgave myself even though I'd done something I shouldn't have? What if I was a liar and a cheat and there was no excuse for what I'd done other than because it was what I wanted and needed to do?...What if I was never redeemed? What if I already was?" "The universe, I'd learned, was never, ever kidding. It would take whatever it wanted and it would never give it back." "Fear, to a great extent, is born of a story we tell ourselves, and so I chose to tell myself a different story from the one women are told." "It had nothing to do with gear or footwear or the backpacking fads or philosophies of any particular era or even with getting from point A to point B. It had to do with how it felt to be in the wild. With what it was like to walk for miles with no reason other than to witness the accumulation of trees and meadows, mountains and deserts, streams and rocks, rivers and grasses, sunrises and sunsets. The experience was powerful and fundamental. It seemed to me that it had always felt like this to be a human in the wild, and as long as the wild existed it would always feel this way." "Miles weren't things that blazed dully past. They were long, intimate straggles of weeds and clumps of dirt, blades of grass and flowers that bent in the wind, trees that lumbered and screeched. They were the sound of my breath and my feet hitting the trail one step at a time and the click of my ski pole. The PCT had taught me what a mile was. I was humble before each and every one." "Of all the things I'd been skeptical about, I didn't feel skeptical about this: the wilderness had a clarity that included me. " "I set my toothbrush down, then leaned into the mirror and stared into my own eyes. I could feel myself disintegrating inside myself like a past-bloom flower in the wind. Every time I moved a muscle, another petal of me blew away. Please, I thought. Please." "The one for whom behind every hot pair of boots or sexy little skirt or flourish of the hair there was a trapdoor that led to the least true version of me. Now there was only one version. On the PCT I had no choice but to inhabit it entirely, to show my grubby face to the whole wide world." "The father's job is to teach his children how to be warriors, to give them the confidence to get on the horse to ride into battle when it's necessary to do so. If you don't get that from your father, you have to teach yourself." "Of course, heroin could be had there too, I thought. But the thing was I didn't want it. Maybe I never really had. I'd finally come to understand what it had been: a yearning for a way out, when actually what I wanted to find was a way in. I was there now, or close."
The Art of Stillness
“Going nowhere … isn’t about turning your back on the world; it’s about stepping away now and then so that you can see the world more clearly and love it more deeply.”
Joan Didion on Self Respect
Character — the willingness to accept responsibility for one’s own life — is the source from which self-respect springs. Self-respect is something that our grandparents, whether or not they had it, knew all about. They had instilled in them, young, a certain discipline, the sense that one lives by doing things one does not particularly want to do, by putting fears and doubts to one side, by weighing immediate comforts against the possibility of larger, even intangible, comforts.
Today I had another leadership class. Today's training was titled "They Inspire Me" which was part of our company's leadership promise. I learned how 90% of our reality is shaped by the lens we use. I learned how success is mostly determined by how happy and enthusiastic you are as this can increase your productivity by 30%. I learned how one can think they are a "Multiplier" but really they are an "Accidental Diminisher". Being a leader is very difficult and I hope to continue to work on / improve my ability as an every day leader. Also it is very important for a leader to have a vision. I currently don't have a vision and imagine it will take a very long time to get one as I first have to understand everything I am doing and why I am doing it. However, once I get a better grasp of things I am going to start working on a vision / a path of where I am aiming to go. I feel like the past couple of months have made me start back at square one. I had first thought everything seemed the same but in reality it is all new and I have to learn it all over again. This feeling can definitely wipe away any confidence you have built up from the past but it very refreshing and exciting at the same time.
Love Letters from Frida Kahlo
Diego: Nothing compares to your hands, nothing like the green-gold of your eyes. My body is filled with you for days and days. you are the mirror of the night. the violent flash of lightning. the dampness of the earth. The hollow of your armpits is my shelter. my fingers touch your blood. All my joy is to feel life spring from your flower-fountain that mine keeps to fill all the paths of my nerves which are yours. ----- My Diego: Mirror of the night Your eyes green swords inside my flesh. waves between our hands. All of you in a space full of sounds — in the shade and in the light. You were called AUXOCHROME the one who captures color. I CHROMOPHORE — the one who gives color. You are all the combinations of numbers. life. My wish is to understand lines form shades movement. You fulfill and I receive. Your word travels the entirety of space and reaches my cells which are my stars then goes to yours which are my light.
Amanda Palmer birthday love note to Neil Gaiman
"It's Neil Gaiman's birthday today, he's 54, and he's waking up at 4:30 in the morning to get on a plane to boston (i just got here) that he just re-scheduled to miss the massive snow-storm supposedly heading into the midwest....just so he doesn't miss the massive book-and-birthday two day blow-out we have planned. i don't know how often i say it, or if i say it enough, or what is or isn't enough, or where it matters to say it, sometimes. but i love him, so so much, and the love grows weirder, and deeper, and lighter, and darker and realer with every passing year. we're both aging. i'm seeing new lines in my face and feeling the sagging and loosening of my skin. he's worried about his silvering hair. it's a losing battle, if you're trying to fight time. you have to make love to time, it's the only way. i worry about losing him. he worries about losing me. i worry about missing him. he worries that i worry too much. then we argue. boy, are we fucking married. here's what i know: i love you, neil gaiman, every sag, nose-hair, wrinkle and crevasse. every missed connection, every misplaced detail, every forgotten promise. it's fine. i love the fuck out of you."
