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We like to
imagine ourselves as extraordinary, heroes of our very own legend. Slightly challenging
to be exceptional in a world of billions,
and there is power in being ordinary but better. Picturing ourselves as unique and having a society more often than not prove us wrong leads to frustration, to
a bitter aftertaste of a stale lemonade that was meant to be refreshing. We seek the extraordinary, but we need to
struggle with everyday tasks, bills,
angry neighbors and boring encounters.
There is nothing remarkable in feeding
your cat, but there may be.
After all, resilience comes from
ordinary processes. When life
gives you lemons and all that cliché…
Fascination,
pure enjoyment, and curiosity may
transform dull tasks and mundane hustles into sources of extraordinary. Stay at the moment: there are tiny joys to be had in
doing the dishes, decorating a Christmas tree, watching a bird rest on a branch
outside your window… Don't you have the
time for it? What do you have the time for? Does it sound like New Age annoying
empty speech? Perhaps. Writing about turning
prosaic into poetry may seem… well… prosaic.
There is
this book I love a lot: An
Extraordinary Absence by Jeff Foster. And Jeff (who does sound New Age-y
with a more rational twist, and he keeps
this tone in all his books) talks about how we seem to get the thirst for life
when we are in limit situations: we value breath more when we don’t have it
quite as easily. So why do we need to
wait for the limit, for the extraordinary, to enjoy life?
I know that
my psychologist would agree that I should adhere to this quote by Jeff as a
mantra, she seems to tell me this constantly:
“Stop thinking your way through life, always trying to work it out before living it. Life is to be lived, not analyzed to death. Feel”…
.
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