is an unlived life worth examining?


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Parker Palmer writes:

The unexamined life is surely worth living, but is the unlived life worth examining? It seems a strange question until one realizes how much of our so-called mental life is about the lives we are not living, the lives we are missing out on, the lives we could be leading but for some reason are not. What we fantasize about, what we long for, are the experiences, the things and the people that are absent. It is the absence of what we need that makes us think, that makes us cross and sad. We have to be aware of what is missing in our lives – even if this often obscures both what we already have and what is actually available – because we can survive only if our appetites more or less work for us. Indeed, we have to survive our appetites by making people cooperate with our wanting. We pressurize the world to be there for our benefit. And yet we quickly notice as children – it is, perhaps, the first thing we do notice – that our needs, like our wishes, are always potentially unmet. Because we are always shadowed by the possibility of not getting what we want, we learn, at best, to ironize our wishes – that is, to call our wants wishes: a wish is only a wish until, as we say, it comes true – and, at worst, to hate our needs. But we also learn to live somewhere between the lives we have and the lives we would like.

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We refer to them as our unlived lives because somewhere we believe that they were open to us; but for some reason – and we might spend a great deal of our lived lives trying to find and give the reason – they were not possible. And what was not possible all too easily becomes the story of our lives. Indeed, our lived lives might become a protracted mourning for, or an endless tantrum about, the lives we were unable to live. But the exemptions we suffer, whether forced or chosen, make us who we are.

from with-in to with-out


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On the day when it will be possible for woman to love not in her weakness but in strength, not to escape herself but to find herself, not to abase herself but to assert herself – on that day love will become for her, as for man, a source of life and not of mortal danger. In the meantime, love represents in its most touching form the curse that lies heavily upon woman confined in the feminine universe, woman mutilated, insufficient unto herself.

Beautifully said. These are words from an existential French Philosopher, Simone de Beauvoir.

Self love is often the most trickiest and hardest to cultivate. I’ve always found it easier to love another instead of myself, to see them but not me, to reach out but not within, to give and give till I’m blue in my face and colourless in my ♥ heart.

But now I’m learning. Slowly, but I’m learning. To love myself. Clichéd as it may sound, it is essential.

May Love, in all its shapes and forms, be your closest friend today. May you find it in your beautiful heart and may it find You.

the beginning of something to tell


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I have wanted to start writing, be it a blog, or a journal, or scribbles on a notebook but just starting to write (or continuing to write) has seemed so difficult.  I’ve started and then I’ve fallen off the band-wagon many a time! There’s a block, a resistance perhaps a psychoanalyst may interpret! Unsure what exactly a Jungian therapist might say but I do know what an existential counsellor would!  Having said all that I am aware that writing does something for me.  I don’t know what exactly, but it does help to release, shift and stir what is within.  And in doing so, I am able to breathe better.  I don’t know exactly what this blog will contain for there are no specific themes it must or should follow.  It will be what it will be.  It will be what it is meant to be. Thank you for your company.