The art of living. Everywhere I turn, adults seem obsessed with it. Things like “work-life balance” and “self care.”
I don’t know. Some I’ve met most committed to health — physical, diets, organic, therapy, organization — seem, sometimes, most unfulfilled.
I don’t know.
But it seems to me that trial and grief and “imbalance” have their benefits as well. My heroes are those who have mastered the art of resilience, even amidst the “imbalance” of trauma.
Half of the art of living is resilience, not some fad diet.
People are at their best when they’re screaming mad with a cause worth dying for.
It’s not an either-or. I’m not saying self-care is unimportant. But I observe often that “being healthy” has its drawbacks too. In many ways, the pursuit of health is based on the fear of death. In those cases, many cease to live. Life becomes about safety, fear of eating the wrong thing, missing out on the latest study on how to add years to your life.
Then there are the survivors. The one’s who made life not about self, but about others. I’m just trying to say that those people, the world changers, and especially those persecuted in the process — those are the ones we admire.
Those are the one’s the great novels and films are about.
Not some selfish and fearful soul obsessed with not dying, or, worse, having the perfectly balanced life.