My face dry and burnt from the afternoon sun,
Facing toward forever.
Behind me, a world of pain and anguish,
One step forward, a solution.
They yell from below,
But their voices are trivial.
They didn't care then,
They don't care now.
Slowly breathing,
There's no turning back.
I let myself fly,
The wind on my side,
And soar from the peak of despair.
Falling into an endless ocean of darkness,
Into the pain, that no one bothered to notice.
Ripping the air,
Like a knife plunged deep,
A blur out the window,
To those who would cynically glance.
A waste of skin,
A waste of time,
A waste of life.
Blessed,
Sweet,
Pavement...
Free to leave the office to enjoy dinner with my family before tucking my kids into bed…
Free to pursue my definition of success…
This also always helps me to weigh opportunities properly. Does this give me more autonomy or less?
Screw whether it’s fancy.
Screw whether it’s what everyone else is doing, whether it gets me a few more followers or a couple extra dollars. What matters is freedom.
Because without freedom, what good is success? As Seneca said, “Most powerful is he who has himself in his own power.”
It doesn't work like a check-list: You can't check each item off, get to be happy and old for a couple of decades, then you die. Problems don’t go away, they change and evolve. And accepting life's imperfection is hard because it forces us to accept that we have to live with things we don’t like.
Here's What Bothers Me About How 'Paris in Ruins' Rewrites Impressionist History | Artnet News
A review of Sebastian Smee’s 'Paris in Ruins: Love, War, and the Birth of Impressionism,' which rewrites the origin story of modernism.
https://t.co/hlve2R2mRq