mother
She wasn't easy on me, don't get me wrong. She smacked me. She scolded me. She punished me. But she loved me. She really did. She loved me falling off a swing set. She loved me stepping on her floors with muddy shoes. She loved me through vomit and snot and bloody knees. She loved me coming and going, at my worst and at my best. She had a bottomless well of love for me. Her only flaw was that she didn't make me work for it. You see, here's my theory. Kids chase the love that eludes them, and for me, that was my father's love. He kept it tucked away, like papers in a briefcase. And i kept trying to get in there.
About Me
Monday, February 22
Sometimes when you're young, you think nothing can hurt you. It's like being invincible. Your whole life is ahead of you, and you have big plans. Big plans. To find your perfect match. The one that completes you. But as you get older, you realize it's not always that easy. It's not until the end of your life that you realize how the plans you made were simply plans. At the end, when you're looking back instead of forward, you want to believe that you made the most of what life gave you. You want to believe that you're leaving something good behind. You want it all to have mattered.
wild.
"It is easy, when you are young, to believe that what
you desire is no less than what you deserve, to assume that
if you want something badly enough , it is your
God-given right to have it. . . I was a raw youth who mistook
passion for insight and acted according to an obscure, gap-ridden logic.
I thought climbing the Devils Thumb would fix all that was wrong with my life.
In the end, of course, it changed almost nothing.
But I came to appreciate that mountains make poor receptacles
for dreams.
And I lived to tell my tale."
you desire is no less than what you deserve, to assume that
if you want something badly enough , it is your
God-given right to have it. . . I was a raw youth who mistook
passion for insight and acted according to an obscure, gap-ridden logic.
I thought climbing the Devils Thumb would fix all that was wrong with my life.
In the end, of course, it changed almost nothing.
But I came to appreciate that mountains make poor receptacles
for dreams.
And I lived to tell my tale."
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