When someone is letting you down they’ll often say something like, “This is the hardest decision I’ve ever made.”
It sounds nice. And it’s nice that they bother to say it. But it doesn’t do much to soften the blow and does nothing to change the fact they’re rejecting you.
What they’re really saying is, “I know this is going to hurt you, which is probably going to hurt me too but I’m doing it anyway.”
And when you put it like that, the first way does sound a lot nicer.
They often mean that it was an easy decision not to…
The easier decision to stay. The easier decision not to say no. The easier decision to stay in their comfort zone.
The shit thing about life is that the hardest decision is usually the right one.
Easy road, hard life. Hard road, easy life.
As they say.
Humans are great and all but we’re total cowards when it comes to nature.
It’s a miracle that we survived long enough to escape it at all.
We trap the sun in a glass to ward away wolves, wrap ourselves in comforting cloth to forget the cold of the wild, and bang our drums all night to scare off the ghosts.
And that’s all great.
But one thing we never see anymore is the stars.
Oh sure, we’ve all seen a couple of them. You probably even know the names of a few. But most people never get to truly see the stars.
That thick, soft, glimmering night that presses itself into the back of your eyes from beyond time.
The startling realization that you’ve lived 30 years in the light and haven’t really seen anything at all.
The unsettling thrill of knowing there is really no end to the places we can go and the wonders we’ll see…
But nobody gets to see the stars anymore because we’re too afraid to walk into the dark.
And that’s the only way to see them.
When people talk about identity what they’re saying is: “This is my story.”
Whether that’s where we came from, what we believe, the food we like or who we have sex with, it’s all part of our story.
For many years I told myself stories like, “I’m not a morning person,” or “I’m an introvert,” or “I can’t write every day,” or “rich people are bad,” or “stopping smoking is hard.”
Worst of all, I told myself I didn’t have anything to add to the world.
But no matter how many times I told myself those silly tales, deep inside I knew they weren’t true. And I was slowly killing myself trying to drown that little voice every time it spoke up to remind me so.
Because the stories we tell ourselves are the fluffy cushions that make our comfort zone so comforting. But they’re also the locks that keep us there.
Luckily, we hold the keys. And it’s never too late to change the story.
It was always funny to me that dragons hoard gold.
In almost every story we have about a dragon, they harbour some deeply valuable and important treasure; the hero must outwit or outfight the beast to get it.
What does a giant flying lizard want with a pile of shiny metal or a bejewelled cup?
Dragons are a storytelling device; an ancient meme designed to teach us about life. They always hoard treasure because the thing we want the most is always where we least want to go.
If we want the gold, we must first leave our comfortable castles and slay the dragons of chaos within us.
Only then, can we live happily ever after.