Wednesday, August 03, 2011
“The tragedy of life is not death, but what we let die inside of us while we live.”
And they've got me. With my anger management workbooks and the veritable library of self help books (interspersed, of course, with the entire Shopaholics series and no less than several hundred other pop fiction reads); they have someone who also is unabashedly ready to scoop up every single thing I can learn. About being a better person; a better mother. Better wife. Friend. Aunt. Woman. Daughter.
I used to be embarrassed by this direction; by the idea that I needed such work. And then I read "Who will cry when I die" by Robin Sharma, promptly ordered all his other books, and stopped thinking it was a reflection of my failures that I still need (a lot) of work. In one of them he conceded the same; that he had once judged people he saw toting tomes on self repair. And then he (and later, I), realized. What better project? What better place to direct energy? If I carried around books on getting ahead at work, or how to paint a better picture, or build a better bookcase, no one would judge. Why should anyone judge if I want to be a better person?
And so I'm not so ashamed, anymore. Not so ashamed of my desire to be better. Of my plan to wear a bracelet to remind me to be kind. (I know...it is poor when you need a bracelet to remind you to be kind. Nonetheless). Not ashamed to admit that I'm so far from perfect...
But I'm going to give it my best shot. And if that includes a constant and conscious working on being a better person, so be it.