It's so easy to sulk. Seriously easy. It's so easy to feel shame and wallow in sadness. Seriously easy. It's so easy to give up. Seriously easy. This is the peril of pessimism: it's so easy, when everything else in our lives is so difficult. Compound the peril of pessimism with the false notion that it's easy to get anything we want in life, and...well, we have a problem on our hands.
I'm writing this post tonight partially to prevent my own nervous breakdown before the LSAT, and partially as a reminder that things eventually work themselves out. Because, you see, I too often err on the side of pessimism. But at the same time, when I look at the grand scheme of my life so far, I have no reason to be pessimistic.
I guess I have a variety of mental metaphors I turn to in times of intense frustration. My personal favorites are my mental images of Pacquiao boxing the hell out of someone. This is gonna sound super cheesy, but I like to remind myself that Life, that big, bad boxer, is gonna throw some tough punches. Face it, it's inevitable - we'll all have to take some big hits, some that land straight on the jaw, a couple punches right in the gut, and that rare, occasional hit that will knock us down. It didn't cross your mind, yet there you are, unable to do anything but fall. The crowd gasps in anticipation, and the only sound in the stadium is you hitting the floor. Yet, in all that dizziness, there's a certain something, a certain fighting spirit, if you will, that keeps us in the game. That certain fighting spirit is keeping us going right now, in this moment. You feel the urge to fight back, give it all you got, and shake off your failure.
And then, you get back up. Somehow, you always do. You're back on your unsteady feet, blinking your eyes a couple times, regaining your composure while the referee keeps you separated from your opponent. And the important thing is, it wasn't easy to get back up. In fact, it was incredibly difficult to even conceive of going forward. Yet, the feeling of being back on your feet, despite the wooziness and intense pain, is worth the struggle. The crowd applauds your extraordinary effort, claps and cheers in appreciation, and chants your name. I consider it inevitable, really. Now, time for Round 2...
Ok, so admittedly, Pacquiao wouldn't be K.O.'ed in the first round. But maybe next time, next Round, you'll learn to avoid that punishing left hook, and maybe be a little more nimble on your feet so you can land a couple of your own hits.
3 comments:
"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, 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, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."
i'll be thinking of this when i get rejected from and after interviews!
I understand what you are saying. I feel the same way. But for the sanity that returns to me when I turn my eyes heavenward, I would be finished.
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