Yesterday Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett died, and yesterday I had a conversation with a friend, who brought up the subject of grief. For my friend her grief has not been one of a death, but more a death of her own life. Years of sacrifice and hard work, continually putting her self out there, taking great risk, so that she would have financial and emotional security. Only to end up at this point of time, alone, with a failed business, and the feeling of a failed life. I believe that she will be okay, and that a process will just need to take place, and that she will end up better than ever, but for her.. right now she feels immobile, unable to put herself out there anymore. For me, looking from the outside, I look at her as a kind of hero. Someone who has not just sat on the sideline of life but has really put herself out there. It reminds me of a quote by Theodore Roosevelt
“It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly, who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at the worst, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.”
Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett both epitomize this quote, never taking the most traveled road, and living their lives on their own terms.
Just a thought…
Searching for the perfect life in a perfect world…