Some things can’t be fixed.
Some things won’t be fixed, no matter how hard we try.
But we have to try …
Truth isn’t defeat, it’s clarity.
It points us toward the small, stubborn places where our effort still matters, and away from wasting energy where it doesn’t.
I can’t fix the human condition.
Most days I spend struggling to fix my own condition.
I don’t give up. I can’t.
Can you?
Dare you?
I can’t change another person, turn foe into friend, retrieve love or revive a plant that has withered beyond repair.
I can’t beg my way back into what’s gone.
Forgiving myself is work; it’s mine to do. No one else can do it for me. No one can wind back my clock for a do-over or do-better.
It’s not that I don’t know how to give up, or how to give way to the forces of time, weather, competition, or resistance.
It’s that I’ve learned to navigate between people who like me, love me, dislike me, or outright despise me. I’ve surely earned each of those reactions.
We all have our lists — those who light us up, those who drag us down, and strangers who reveal themselves faster than we expect. The question is, do we let those lists dictate how we live?
Are we wise to settle into our reality, to endure without protest? Or is that quiet surrender disguised as wisdom?
Tomorrow always comes, neatly labelled “tomorrow.”
Should I simply accept what it brings, or make sure it depends on what I bring to it?
I’ve given much to people I care about, sometimes more than I should and I’ve done it poorly, clumsily, and without consistency.
Those failings aren’t generosity, they’re failings - and they case a shadow:
…some moments when I’ve taken less than I needed, when I didn’t want to be greedy. And some where I was selfish and not worthy.
Where do our actions come from, and what gives birth to that instinct?
I think it’s older than my own life. A remnant of grandmothers and grandfathers, their mingled DNA shaping our reflexes about giving, taking, holding back, or pushing forward.
I can’t fix everything.
But I can choose where to stand, what to carry, and what to put down.
So can you.
What you take away is what stirs you, or what was stirred in you by what you read. If that’s ‘nothing’, let me know, but consider a second read.
We can’t fix everything, but we can choose where to focus; acceptance is not always wisdom; it can be surrender, or simply being wrapped in the moment by the blanket of needs we ache to meet. Wisdom, or power, if we can control such things lies in knowing what we can act on, and then to act on it...
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