A victim of your own thought processes.
Hunched over my dreams and the computer for too long, my anxious kindergartner lolled about my classroom declaring supreme boredom and neglect. I glanced at her. The grocery store was waiting for us, it was already 4 p.m. and I hadn’t moved an inch on my to-do list. But I knew what I needed to do.
We take a cursory glance at the outsides, and make judgments and decisions about the insides. We decide who is worthy of our precious wonderment, charity and grace, and who “should just know better”, “should just give a little more effort”, “should stop making excuses”, etc.
Because I have learned from fire-breathing dragons, that once these fences have all been burnt, there is no black and white, only grayness. And in these gray ashes, I’ve realized that these were a luxurious illusion.
We picture ourselves post insurmountable odds, proudly staking our flag of accomplishment for all to admire. …push ahead and test our limits, and yet, unless we are actually eye to eye with the prospect of failure, we are unable to realize how truly fucking terrifying it is to look failure in the eye.
Those big ideas started out small, as scribbles on paper, notes on napkins, long, laborious hours of unglorified research; there is always the humble or boring or tedious, untold story that props up that glamorous achievement.
Ice Cube once encouraged us to check ourselves.
Not The Time and Place 