"And then it happened again...word vomit!"
This week I did multiple things that can only be described by the metaphor of falling flat on my face. And you know what? Who cares! Life is too short to be hella serious and stress about dumb little things that don't matter, like a factually inaccurate newspaper article, the world's smallest fender bender and a few lines here and there among friends that were woefully misconstrued. The absolute best part (only good part?) about growing up is realizing that each new fuck-up isn't the end of the world and putting yourself out there requires a minimum of fuckuppery to go with the successes. I dare say it makes the successes possible, because if you live your life by a paralyzing fear of screwing up you'll never amount to or accomplish anything.
Walter Breuning is America's oldest man, a 113-year-old retired railroad worker who lives in Montana. Not that I would really want to take too much advice from someone whose only claim is arriving tardy to death's door (seriously, any future nieces or nephews that may read this, that plug is there for a reason) but he said something interesting. During his 113th birthday celebrations, Breuning said: "Remember that life's length is not measured by its hours and days, but by that which we have done therein. A useless life is short if it lasts a century. There are greater and better things in us all, if we would find them out."
I spent my childhood terrified of bee stings. Running away with arms flailing, I did whatever I could to distance myself from bees, wasps, hornets at all. So afraid was I that I always shook my soda cans to make sure no errant bee made its way in, avoided half the woods in my backyard and checked my work glove almost compulsively to make sure no bees were there. We once took our vintage Chrysler for a spring cruise and when a hibernating hornet awoke in jumped out of the car at a stop sign. None the wiser, my dad kept going for at least a mile, thinking I'd just opened and shut a door to let the pest out.
My first hornet sting was at 20, that sandwich year of no more teenage excuses and deprivation of perhaps the finest adult right. Ironically enough a hornet got my right hand the very first time I stretched it into an unchecked glove. Totally and completely liberating. Like almost everything we fear, it just wasn't that bad.
We spend most of our lives attempting a weak equilibrium that resides in some thin line between fear of failure and not knowing what to do with success. But a muscle can't grow unless it's torn, a ball can't bounce back until it's hit and you sure as hell can't develop any resiliency without falling flat on our faces from time to time.
Walter Breuning is America's oldest man, a 113-year-old retired railroad worker who lives in Montana. Not that I would really want to take too much advice from someone whose only claim is arriving tardy to death's door (seriously, any future nieces or nephews that may read this, that plug is there for a reason) but he said something interesting. During his 113th birthday celebrations, Breuning said: "Remember that life's length is not measured by its hours and days, but by that which we have done therein. A useless life is short if it lasts a century. There are greater and better things in us all, if we would find them out."
I spent my childhood terrified of bee stings. Running away with arms flailing, I did whatever I could to distance myself from bees, wasps, hornets at all. So afraid was I that I always shook my soda cans to make sure no errant bee made its way in, avoided half the woods in my backyard and checked my work glove almost compulsively to make sure no bees were there. We once took our vintage Chrysler for a spring cruise and when a hibernating hornet awoke in jumped out of the car at a stop sign. None the wiser, my dad kept going for at least a mile, thinking I'd just opened and shut a door to let the pest out.
My first hornet sting was at 20, that sandwich year of no more teenage excuses and deprivation of perhaps the finest adult right. Ironically enough a hornet got my right hand the very first time I stretched it into an unchecked glove. Totally and completely liberating. Like almost everything we fear, it just wasn't that bad.
We spend most of our lives attempting a weak equilibrium that resides in some thin line between fear of failure and not knowing what to do with success. But a muscle can't grow unless it's torn, a ball can't bounce back until it's hit and you sure as hell can't develop any resiliency without falling flat on our faces from time to time.