Can you see each moment through multiple perspectives?
Can you bask in the brief light shining through the darkness surrounding your mortality?
Can you find the strength to weep at the sorrows of life, but to laugh in the face of their irony, and to see the brightness waiting to rear its head the moment you shift glances?
Every moment is a gilded leaf falling from a dying tree, and we are beneath this oak with hands outstretched, catching the ones we deem worthy of memory. The gilded leaves are moments. The dying tree is our life, steadily growing and simultaneously decaying toward the end.
Each day is filled with a myriad of opportunities, and yet it is often looked at as a toil of monotony, drudgery, of drab repetition we long to break free of.
There are two truths I have accepted which have helped to color my days, which I would like to share with you.
The First Truth
You are going to die.
The Second Truth
Life is palette of memories and present actions. We are the ones who create from it with brushstrokes.
If only the choice of choosing adventure over comfort zones was as simple as the choice Bilbo Baggins had to make in The Hobbit. Some dwarves and a wizard came knocking at his door, threw a party, and proposed he should go with them on an adventure.
All he had to do was sleep on it and decide whether he wanted to fully embrace life or stay home, enjoying his tea and biscuits in the morning. (Admittedly both are nice, but you understand.)
I think that most of us know immediately which one we would choose, yet when we look at our life and what we want to accomplish with it, why do we hesitate? Why is there a vague, ambiguous cloud of doubt and a lack of motivation toward our aspirations and dreams? It's because first steps are always the most difficult. More than anything, it's the fear of failure, the doubt, built up like a fog. All we have to do is take those first steps through the fog to see just how clear our vision is beyond the haze. It becomes easier as we go. The more we work on our passions, the easier the rhythm becomes, just as the blacksmith hammers away at the hot iron, smacking the anvil after each hit, not because it does anything to sword, but because he's maintaining a rhythm.
Why not look at all our aspirations and goals as an adventure? A bloody, dramatic, dragon-battle-riddled one?
Because there will be quiet moments, too. Beautiful and slow ones to relax, breathe, and rest. But for the most part, there will be adventure, and there will be a pride that we took those first steps at all. Even if we have to do it every day, a separate time, when we wake up.