prompt_the_mind
It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat. -- Roosevelt.
Who do you want to be -- the critic in the stands, or the man (or woman) in the arena? How have you been living lately? Is something holding you back?
I’m the man in the arena disguised as the critic in the stands, and I like it that way. I don’t like people knowing my shortcomings, my failings, my mistakes -- if I’m blatantly in the arena, then my mistakes are as plain to see as my triumphs.
I’ve spent the last ten years standing in the arena with House, through all his tribulations, but never has he stood in the arena with me. He’s always stood in the stands, critiquing my every move. The ones I’ve let him see. Not the ones I’ve hidden from him. God only knows how many I’ve hidden from him. Many more than he’s aware of. Many more than I’m willing to admit to.
Until now, that is. Lately, he’s been the one in the arena with me, picking me up off the ground, dusting me down, wiping away my sweat. Every time I face Josh, every time something is thrown at me that makes me feel like I’ve lost control, which -- lately -- feels like everything. I feel like I can’t hide anything anymore, and maybe that’s a good thing -- maybe me hiding things has been the thing holding me back. But being so exposed… I don’t know how much more of that I can take.
I don’t know how much more I can take of any of this.
And I…
I don’t want to talk about this anymore.
Muse: James Wilson
Fandom: House, M.D.
Words: 230
Who do you want to be -- the critic in the stands, or the man (or woman) in the arena? How have you been living lately? Is something holding you back?
I’m the man in the arena disguised as the critic in the stands, and I like it that way. I don’t like people knowing my shortcomings, my failings, my mistakes -- if I’m blatantly in the arena, then my mistakes are as plain to see as my triumphs.
I’ve spent the last ten years standing in the arena with House, through all his tribulations, but never has he stood in the arena with me. He’s always stood in the stands, critiquing my every move. The ones I’ve let him see. Not the ones I’ve hidden from him. God only knows how many I’ve hidden from him. Many more than he’s aware of. Many more than I’m willing to admit to.
Until now, that is. Lately, he’s been the one in the arena with me, picking me up off the ground, dusting me down, wiping away my sweat. Every time I face Josh, every time something is thrown at me that makes me feel like I’ve lost control, which -- lately -- feels like everything. I feel like I can’t hide anything anymore, and maybe that’s a good thing -- maybe me hiding things has been the thing holding me back. But being so exposed… I don’t know how much more of that I can take.
I don’t know how much more I can take of any of this.
And I…
I don’t want to talk about this anymore.
Muse: James Wilson
Fandom: House, M.D.
Words: 230