Sunday, February 10, 2019

On hope

Borrowed from Tatiana Boshenka
Thought 1: This post reminds me of what Vaclav Havel said about hope:
. . [T]he kind of hope I often think about (especially in situations that are particularly hopeless, such as prison) I understand above all as a state of mind, not a state of the world. Either we have hope within us, or we don’t. . . . Hope is not prognostication. It is an orientation of the spirit, an orientation of the heart. It transcends the world that is immediately experienced, and is anchored somewhere beyond its horizons. . . .
I feel that its deepest roots are in the transcendental, just as the roots of human responsibility are, though of course I can’t – unlike Christians, for instance — say anything about the transcendental. . . .
“Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously headed for early success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good, not just because it stands a chance to succeed. 
The more unpromising the situation in which we demonstrate hope, the deeper that hope is. Hope is not the same thing as optimism.
It is not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out. In short, I think that the deepest and most important form of hope, the only one that can keep us above water and urge us to good works, and the only true source of the breathtaking dimension of the human spirit and its efforts, is something we get, as it were, from ‘elsewhere.’
It is also this hope, above all, that gives us the strength to live and continually to try new things, even in conditions that seem as hopeless as ours do, here and now.”
Disturbing the Peace, pp. 181-182

Sunday, January 13, 2019

Grief, recovery and changes

One thing that happened, each time a child died, a coping mechanism that I was using broke with the death.

I used to walk by myself to reduce stress,  I just couldn't do it until last year.  Unless someone walked with me I just couldn't do it.  I started working out with Shotokan again after Courtney died and before Robin died.  I had real problems trying to do that again, even though I loved karate.

But a couple of years ago, that finally started working for me.

Journaling is something I have been able to do again.

In many ways, it is as if in the last two-three years my life has started over.  Heck, about fourteen years ago, when I started losing weight (and could tolerate losing weight) it was obvious that things were still moving.

The recovery from grief and the broken parts of my life has been continuing and steady.

I could wish I were younger but time and age happen to us all.

I'm so grateful for my life, for my children and most of all, for my wife who has stayed with me through thick and thin.