Being vs Doing Feed

he wants a dad not a coach


I had a chance to take my son to his first Toronto Maple Leafs game last night. It was an unbelievable evening, filled with a lifetime of memories, and a five – nothing shutout, is nothing to sniff at either.

But the day turned out to be more than a lopsided hockey contest.

When I got to Canada in 1985, I remember vividly, playing road hockey with a handful of some neighbourhood kids, just outside of 10 Grenoble Drive, near the Science Centre. I found my tattered stick, in a garbage bin somewhere, and although I didn’t understand much of what they were saying, they somehow convinced me to become a Leafs fan.

Their welcoming spirit had a profound effect on me, and ever since that day, despite facing down countless remarks and spiteful laughter over the years, I have remained a loyal Toronto Maple Leafs fan, ever since.

But last night was more than just hockey.

Last night was a chance for my son and I to realize what we mean to each other.

I cannot tell you his side of the story. Maybe he will be inspired to write about it one day, but for now, mine will have to be enough.

We arrived somewhat early by the Go Train, and so we walked around for a few hours, exploring downtown Toronto, and all its hidden promises.

We saw some homeless men, who were so cold, they didn’t put much effort into begging strangers for their spare change. We encountered a gray-haired man, grasping for breath, collapsed but conscious, just outside a busy designer boutique, inside a busy shopping centre, while most people ignored him and rushed frantically to their next destination.

We found a place to eat and we also ran into several revolving doors and a dozen escalators to amuse ourselves with. Some of us did the amusing. The rest of us did a lot of cautioning and waiting.

We gave a deaf gentleman while waiting in line to get into the arena, two dollars, for a little Maple Leafs button, that now proudly sits atop my son’s backpack.

All in all, we had a tremendous day, despite the weather, but there is one thing that stands out the most.

During the game, because my son is somewhat obsessed about hockey, I took the time, as a learning experience, to point out some of the strategies both teams were employing to try and win the game.

My son looked at me and gently asked if we could just watch the game.

I instinctively said yes but have been thinking about his request ever since.

Can we just watch the game?

At that moment, I realized that my son was enjoying my company, and didn’t want to sit there with his coach. He wanted to remember the day and flood his mind with memories of his dad.

This got me thinking.

How often do we sit with our coaches?

How often do fail to listen to people when it’s our turn?  

We are very efficient playing the role of counselors and dishing out invaluable advice, but our friends are not looking for a psychiatrist or a social worker. They simply desire a friendly, dependable ear, and perhaps a genuine nod or two, once in a little while.

How often do we recognise our own human worth?

How often is that value distorted, mangled, and superficially based on a daily wage, we graciously agreed to, as payment? Is that truly what we do and is that what we are worth?

We sometimes fail to see what provide for others, because we only concern ourselves with the scripts others have written for us.

It wasn’t too difficult to revert back to being a dad, and to ignore the inclination, in a momentary lapse of reason, to become a coach.

There is plenty of time and plenty of people that are willing to do the coaching.

But the landscape is scarce and deficient of good listeners.

The world is starved for genuine companionship.

So, it’s important, to remain and reimagine being a mom and a dad, a son or a daughter, a sister and a brother.


standards of measurement


Our perverse desire to measure our lives, comes from a very deep sense of restlessness.

It seems to come from the baser part of our human nature. Leaving us broken and defeated, while the victor, satisfied, for the moment at least, takes his bow.

In time, the champion will fall too, and it doesn’t take too long, because after all, it all must, somehow, come unhinged and unravelled. The victor becomes a victim. A victim of their own success. Overcome with anxiety and fear. Overwhelmed by the overindulging standards of success, which in time, they can’t possibly hope to maintain.

And so, we dance.

We raise our hands, longing for our turn. We roll the dice, hoping for the right numbers to fall. We buy our lottery tickets, get the right education, land the perfect job, and we rub our rabbit’s foot, counter clockwise, of course, always counter clockwise, because, really, what else are we going to do?

How about nothing?

Not a single fucking thing.

(Yes, I said fucking, let’s move on).

You have to understand, once and for all, that you have nothing to prove.

There is absolutely nothing for you to do.

There are no standards you must master. Tests you must ace. Palms you must grease. Crowds you must please. There are no goals for which you must endure developing an ulcer.

It’s all make believe.

A nightmarish playground, where everyone is unhappy, because they are not somebody else.

You were given life.

Don’t dismiss it so quickly.



The ability to connect.

To be someone.

To make something; for yourself and for others.

You were given a little bit of time, so you can tell the people you come in contact with, what you think and feel. To tell the people you love, what they mean to you. To share your time with them. To laugh with them. To cry with them. To hug them. To remember them. Before you run out of time, or forget.

Life, can’t be measured.

It must be lived.

And being, can’t be won.

I’m not saying that being alive negates our need to work. That it abolishes our need to create or to do something with our lives. There will always be a time to learn something, to do something, to make something, and to sell something. There is plenty of time for all of that, but never, at the expense of living.

And that is the point.

Many of us are resolute to merely survive, so we get a chance to fight again. We lick our wounds, so that we can be well enough someday, to try again.

But life is not about survival.

Life is about art, and music, and poetry.

Life is like a dancer. Moving, jumping, and bending herself to the movements of the music, for no material gain, and for no discerning reason, except that it’s beautiful.

Life is beautiful.

It’s not measurable.

So, stop measuring yourself.

Stop trying to live up to standards, the next generation will ignore anyway.

Live a little.

Laugh a lot.

Be yourself.

Break your damn ruler.


quiet insignificance


Our lives are full of quiet insignificance.

Moments, that we just don’t take much time to notice. Flashes that seem to come and go, so effortlessly, so easily, and so quickly.

Quiet moments. Sometimes, loud moments. Chaotic moments. Insignificant moments.

We would be lost without them.

We would defile our humanity without them.

We would be lost.

Without those millions and millions of tiny, teeny, little moments of quiet insignificance.

Perhaps it’s the solitude of reading a good book or an uplifting movement of a good piece of music. Perhaps it’s the company of a good friend, or the exaggerated chatter about nothing in particular. Perhaps it’s a good hearty run. A daily walk. A piece of cheesecake. Or simply doing the laundry.

We are so driven and so blindly distracted, by all the seemingly important things we have to do each day, that we ignore and forget what makes life worth living.

The quiet insignificance of each moment.

If you want to, you can keep yourself distracted by the infinite minutia of your daily chores for what seems like an infinite pocket of time. If you care to, you can become a stubborn dog, chasing its own tail.

And you do.

You look for meaning and happiness in the grand, and rare, if not magnificent moments. In very huge, loud, champagne popping, heart racing, monumental, moments.

Moments which come bearing expensive invitation cards. Moments consumed with confetti. Moments on the red carpet, with blindingly flashing lights.

Yet the meaning of your life, hides itself in the simplicity of the daily breaths we take. Moment by moment. In the very ordinary expansion and collapse of each of your lungs, without which, there simply would be no moments at all, grand or otherwise.

Our problem is that we think we are in control.

We have come to believe in the illusion that we own or govern our own bodies. That we are the sole proprietors of our life. Creators of our own destiny. That we can live our lives on our own terms, and on our own time.

But as John Donne poetically exclaimed; no man, is an island. Entire of itself. Every woman is a piece of the continent. A part of the main.

A significant part of the main.

We are not in control. We are not an island. Not the way we believe ourselves to be.

Our stitched lives are interwoven with tiny little pieces of quiet insignificance.

Moments of hidden gratitude.

Built on very ordinary, and forgetful, moment of human friendship. Especially, when they are quiet and insignificant.

So, if you dream at night, don’t forget that others are awake, longing for a chance to dream.

And if you don’t dream but experience nightmares, realize that others are unlucky enough to live out real ones.

We were taught at school and in our homes, to look and yearn for the big things. The things that would get us noticed. The things that pay well. The things that make us smart, give us recognition, wealth, power, and prosperity.

The things that don’t really matter.

What matters are the quiet moments of insignificance.

They matter, because when we are gone, those will become the moments our loved ones will long for, and pray to God, that had more time for.

Don’t get too restless with living.

Learn to breathe.

To be still.

Learn to be quiet.

And learn to grow in insignificance.


life happens when you are making other plans


As human animals, we have a unique habit of projecting ourselves into the future. An amazing trick really. We are trained to imagine ourselves in the future, yet can shape our lives in the present, according to our new direction.

We are all very capable of seeing this new, majestic future, so clearly, emerging just over the horizon, and anticipate its glorious days of tomorrow. We use our imagination for that very purpose. We see what tomorrow brings, and excitedly push and pull the present moment, hoping to submit the future into reality.

We try really hard.

We think hard. We feel deep. We work. We learn. We toil.

We cross our t’s and dot our i’s. We purchase insurance. We invest. We save.

Yet life makes other plans.

Life happens when we are busy making other plans.

This used to frustrate me to no end. This frail inability of mine, to conjure up my future into reality, had become a tenacious source of remarkable confusion.

The future seemed so coy. To playfully peek and smile around every corner, only to disappear, and hide itself from my sight.

I could touch it. Feel it. Taste it even. It dripped from my tongue, like honey from an overproducing hive, in a bulging honeycomb, ready for the cold days of winter.

Yet, it was not meant to be.

And yet, I’ve been better for it.

I’m not sure why we are here and our illustrious human history doesn’t help.

It seems to be nothing more than a stark reminder of the inhumanity of one person to another. Endless arguing. Endless fighting. Theft. Indecency and indignity. We seem a long way from discovering our purpose and direction in life, with very little progress to come.


But no matter.

Human history doesn’t define us. Life does.

We draw our dignity from every rising sun and every harvest moon. From the end of things, and the joy of new beginnings.

Life humbles us.

It helps us to stay balanced and not feel too high or too low. Too comfortable or too dejected. Too wise or too ignorant.

Life happens when we least expect it.

All our seemingly unsolvable problems eventually disappear. End. Vanish. One way or another. And we always give birth or adopt new ones. We embrace a tomorrow that always comes with new joys and a series of challenges.

Life is worth living.

It’s glorious.

Unbridled. Unpredictable. Untamed.

Life becomes worth living when you let go and see it for what it is, and embrace it as it comes.

Behold all of it.

It its totality, not its unnatural broken parts.

See it for its glorious totality, and don’t subjugate it into made up fractions and meaningless pieces.

Life happens to us when we are making other plans.

This doesn’t mean you should stop imagining or avoid making other plans.

It simply means that tomorrow will not be like you imagined.

You can’t prepare for it and you should accept it when it comes.

Leap forward. Don’t resist it. Come at tomorrow with an open heart and an open mind. Be ready to turn that corner.

Life peaks at you, so you can chase after it.

It’s a perpetual childlike game of tag.

The point is not to win.

The joy is that we get to play again.


Pawn to E4


I am not the autumn moon, Chris Cornell sang in I am the Highway, I am the night.

The night, not the moon. The highway, not the rolling wheels.

But what are you?

The autumn moon or the infinite night?

The one seems stuck in a gravitational orbit that pins her to insignificance. A life that is not her own. The other is infinite, and mystical in nature, anchoring itself in the infinite participation in everything.

This feels a bit like a no brainer.

The choice is seemingly obvious, don’t you think? But many people, myself included, have chosen to be the moon. We have stubbornly denied our rightful inheritance to be the night.

Ben and Rosamund Zander, in their book The Art of Possibilities, see it this way: you are either a chess piece, or else you are the board.

This is lovely, you must be thinking.  

Moons. Highways. Wheels. Nights. Pawns. Rooks. Queens. Kings. Oh my.

What is this? Metaphor Thursday? 

But let me explain.

For years, and on the rare days I still forget, I consider myself a pawl.

On the good days, I imagine myself as a King or a Queen. Maybe a Castle or a Knight. On the not so good days, I dejectedly accept my role as an expandable pawn. Limited in movement. Born and bred as cannon fodder. Unimportant. Unworthy. Afraid. Susceptible to the sudden power shifts by either side.

I have spent my entire life, it seems, trying to become something I am not. To be a more desirable piece. A more important piece, that matters, in a game I didn’t agree to play. Desiring be someone who is afforded a little more movement. A bit more power, and perhaps a tiny smidge of panache.

But we are not chess pieces.

We are not doomed to react to people and the environment around us.

We are, we are not convicted to do.

When someone asks you how your day is going, they are seeking a little more insight than a hap hazard weather report.

When bad things happen to good people. When we face down our own fears. When we stumble back again into our addictions, we need to choose if we are going to be the moon, or all-encompassing night. A chess piece, or the board.

What you decide, makes a big difference.

If you become a chess piece. Your mistakes become fatal. Your decisions or indecisions become a matter of life and death. In a scarce universe, the things you say and do, bring you closer or further away from the material riches and the life you are dreaming of living.

If you are the board, you know well enough, that you have to suspend all judgement, about anything; about everything.

There is no us and them. There is no black and white. We are everything.

We become all the pieces. We command all the squares.

Yes, we will always be a seemingly insignificant little chunk of blood and guts, but also a meaningful part of an infinite whole.

If we choose to be.

The failures you face today will knock the wind out of you. They will make you spit blood. Drop you to your knees.

There is just no pleasant way around it. The only shortcut is the long way through them.

But in time, those failures and mistakes that shook us to the core become faded moments of triumph, or turning points. They are reimagined as shining stars leading your way to Bethlehem.

It’s really easy to be a pawn. It’s easy to move forward to E4.

But it’s not a game you want to play.

The choice is yours.

It’s your turn.


be yourself


To thine own self be true.

And if you do, then you can’t be false to anyone, least of all, yourself.

And it’s not even a matter of being false. It’s a matter of not having the tenacity to live up to the life you deserve.

Let’s face it, you’re nothing special.

You’re certainly not better than any of the thousands of people you are going to pass by today. The faceless men and women going to and from work with great excitement and furry.

You are just like them.

Filled with identical, but somewhat dormant hopes and dreams, wishes, prayers, groans, moans, but the exact number of hours, each and every day.


To the millisecond.

But you’ll probably object. Object, because pushing back on this point is far easier than becoming the true you.

The anonymous men and women you pass every day, all face the same challenges and struggles. They pay their taxes. They consume food on the run. They grow old, far too young. They dread the darkness of winter and anticipate the warm heat of summer.

This is exactly why there is absolutely nothing special about who you are.

In a sense.

You’re just a tiny part of a comfort obsessed majority. A progressive, pleasure seeking collective. A human race that has traded in the vision of life full of limitless possibilities, for an illusionary life filled with conflict and scarcity.   

If today, you continue to stand firm with your industrial, corporate brethren, then you probably deserve nothing less and nothing more, than what you can win or horde for yourself, in whatever time you’ve got left.

You better go out and gather your nuts.

I hear it’s going to be a bitch of a winter.

But in a deeper sense, and the truth of the matter, everything that you are and everything you were intended to do is special.

You are a special snowflake.

A very, very, beautiful snowflake, and I use that phrase only because it irritates every molecule of my body, and springs forth vomit to the precipice of my lips.

I use it because I need to begin to master my words.

But truly.

Without doubt. Without question.

Without a moments hesitation, you are a special snowflake.

Just accept it, and get on with it.

Be yourself.

The person you should be. The person you were born to be. The person you have to be.

A dying woman, when she is ready to reconcile her life, rarely regrets the things that she had done, because at some point, when you get older, you simply come to terms with all of your silliness and childish ways.

You only regret what you have failed to do.

Failed to do.

To be or not to be.

To live a life that feels right, or to exist in a life built for someone else.

Dreams are dangerous.

They lead you to the edge of an abyss and as Nietzsche so wonderfully wrote, when you summon the courage to stare at the abyss, the abyss always stares back at you.

It cripples you with fear.

Fear of what they will think. Fear of what they will do. Fear of what who you are.

Fear of what it will mean. Fear of the unknown. The undiscovered. Fear of failure. The very thing that will take you back, way back, when we you were a little boy on the playground, with your pants down, unable to hide, from the menacing eyes and pointing fingers of your unforgiving classmates.

They are gone.

You’re not seven anymore.

It’s time to be yourself.

It is your turn.

Time to be.

To be that very special snowflake.


who over what


When you are asked about your day, what comes to mind?

Did you awake today to be with people or to take your orders from things?

Things to do. Things to analyze. Things to sell.


The question is very important and an honest, truthful answer, even more so.

As you search your mind for what you’ve done today or perhaps what you have failed to do, so begins the deliberate dance of measuring yourself against predetermined expectations, obligations, and the tiresome struggle for happiness.

It’s so easy and effortless to recall the things we have done. The things we do.

The what of our lives always bubbles to the surface, because we were taught to be task oriented.

Our schooling, very dutifully and forcibly, convinced us that life is nothing more than a series of lectures, dry PowerPoint presentations, complied into notes, late night study sessions, which ultimately culminate in a seemingly important test.

Our lives haven’t changed much. 

Our thinking is still very much confined to what we have learned in our educational institution.

We have traded our hopes and dreams for good marks, and our rightful place in a commercial or industrial institution.

We pride ourselves that at least we are not suffering the toil of meaningless work in a penal institution.

So, we wake up. Bitch about our morning. Drag our feet to work. Struggle and complain with those who choose to commiserate with our putrid sadness.

We go home. Drown our misery with some fried fish, some Gin and Tonic, and endless episodes of streamed entertainment.

We wake up tired and we begin where we left off. We look for more things to do.

But it’s not about the what.

It’s not about our to do list, about efficiency, productivity, the predictability of measurement, or our misguided expectations, assessments, and evaluations. It’s not about spending the best part of our day at the shopping mall, alone, fighting and searching for the biggest trinket for someone we love, so they can return it after boxing day.

Our day should be about the who.

About the people we love, and about the people whose company we enjoy.

The who is more infinitely more important than the what.

People never serve a purpose. They are not a means to an end.

There is nothing for them to do.

They are human beings.

They are.

They be.

And all we have been give is just a bit of time. A bit of time to spend in their company. To get to know them. To help them and in turn to be supported by them. To leave them a little better and happier than we have found them.

Many of us feel terrible about our day, but we often don’t remember who was there by our side. Who brought us coffee. Who shared a laugh. Who dared to dream out loud. Who persevered against a sea of troubles. Who battled. And who understood and embraced us for who we are.

The who should always trump the what.

You should see your day for the people you spent it with.

It is so simple, yet why is it so complicated?

When you finish reading this. When you are finally done here. Won’t you go back to whatever things are clamoring for your attention? Won’t you forget I ever existed?


where are you going?


Quo Vadis?

Where are you going?

Or more precisely, where are we going? Where are you taking us

You stand on the shoulders of giants and without your ancestors, you would not be able to inhale or exhale a single breath, or clumsily manage a simple step. You are going for them.

You also belong to a family. An extended family. A family that includes some characters, but all of them share your passion and devotion. You are going for them too.

There are also so many people you have met along the way, but perhaps didn’t make time to notice until now, that have collectively contributed so immeasurably to your life, in so many hidden ways. Unsung heroes and heroines. You are going for them as well.

But where are you going?

I ponder that question daily. I give thanks each morning for being able to take a breath, and quickly count the blessings in my life. What remains is to begin asking what’s next.

What’s next? Where should I go? What should we do?

Why? How? When? Where?

I have learned much from Mr. Zig Ziglar, but one of the most beautiful metaphors I ever heard is the one about being a ship in the harbour.

It takes great effort to sail and the ocean is often a very dangerous place to be.  Navigation is crucial and no picnic either. But any ship anchored in the harbour, does not share a better fate. Inevitably it rusts and serves no ultimate purpose.

You and I must guard each other so we do not resign ourselves into being anchored by a melancholy shore.

Ships were built to sail. You and I were born to see the world.

We have to sail with purpose. We have to live with gusto. We have to tread the waters of our lives with determination and freedom.

But not absolute freedom.

Absolute freedom is a dangerous illusion.

Freedom is not an absence from something. It is a choice to be enslaved by something.

If you bellow the word freedom from the top of the mast, and refuse or seek any direction, you will die alone, somewhere in the undiscovered vastness of the ocean.

The ocean is a vast and often unforgiving, but so is life, if you don’t care to discover or ask where you are going.

For this reason, we need a compass.

This is why we need respect and obey the Northern Star.

In order to get anywhere in life, we must suspend our stubborn, unapologetic notion of doing what we want because we have always done it. We have to choose a new path. A direction of discomfort and trepidation.

We need to pick a new untrodden trail and unequivocally respect our journey. Obey the laws and directions of that journey. Be aware and ready for the impending weather, and adjust accordingly for the unapologetic rotation of the earth.

We need a compass.

A good compass.

We need a Northern Star.

A plan.

A good plan.

Something tangible.

From someone wise.

Only then and only armed with a good compass, can we navigate our very own ocean.

We cannot sail without direction. If we do, we will be left alone to our own frustration and the misery of some wretched company.

If we sail with a compass, we will dock in many unimaginable ports. Learn many things. Exchange ideas with unbelievably gifted people.

We will live a life we could never otherwise have imagined.

A life invisible if you are resigned to stand on the shore or be docked in the harbour.


mining an abundant mind


Your mind is perhaps the most powerful device you have ever mistreated or underutilized throughout your life. The most important tool that doesn’t get sharpened too often, and stays unused, perhaps even a bit rusty, in the back of the cluttered shed.

But your mind the key to everything.

You just can’t outperform what you believe you cannot do. You can’t outperform a low self- esteem, a loser’s limp, or a toxic attitude towards everything, but thank God, it’s Friday.

You cannot mine the gifts you don’t believe you have. You cannot become the person who you don’t feel you deserve to be.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

It can all change if you let go and begin to nourish your mind.

Feed and grow a mind that believes in abundance. In infinite promises and opportunities. A universe of abundant possibilities.

There is no genie lamp.

You can’t find one on eBay, rub it, and hungrily demand that this or that come true, like a petulant child.

Life is much better. Much fairer. Far more forgiving. Far more encompassing.

The fact is, we cannot feel ourselves into the future. We just don’t know what tomorrow is going to show up to greet us. We cannot accurately predict if the things we are working for will provide us the life we think we will embrace, or gut us into assuming the fetal position.

In the middle of this coming winter you will probably dream of getting away to Cuba, Mexico, or perhaps one of the glorious Caribbean islands. Nothing but glorious sun, you’ll hear yourself say. You will say it. See it. Dream it. You will save your money, find the time, and jump on a last-minute deal to paradise.

You’ll arrive in the happiness you anticipated when it was cold and dark.

The moment you land however, and before you even unpack, you’ll sense the beginning of a cold. Worse, you will probably drink too much on the first night and spend what remains of the morning, dancing with the toilet, babbling like a fool.

Ok. I’m not saying that this is inevitable. I’m simply saying that we have no idea what will happen to us in the future.

We take our cues from the past. We feel the future. We live and toil in the present.

Your mind is the key to everything.

You have to mine your mind. You have to dig and believe that it can produce abundance.

You cannot serve two masters. Things are either scarce, or there is plenty of them.

If life is scarce, it is probably better to give up now, then to deal with a lifetime of disappointment. It is better to quit before you begin, than be crushed under the weight of inevitable defeat.

But what if the word scarcity is just a concept buried deep inside your mind? What if abundance is nothing more than a different concept of the same mind?

What if you get to choose the way you want to see the world and act accordingly.

If you believe you are fit, won’t you do things that fit people do? If you believe yourself to be a musician, won’t you be performing something somewhere?

Scarcity will inevitably lead you to deep frustration and competition. Abundance will guide you towards hard work and selfless cooperation.

You have the power today to decide what your mind is going to mine.

Believe you can, or believe you can’t. Either way, you are right.

All things considered.

Believing you can is much better.


perfect imperfections


We have never managed to conclusively nail down the circumference of a circle.

Our best scientific minds and our fastest computers, after centuries of effort, are still unable to come up with a definitive number that identifies pi, much beyond the very danceable 3.14.

We have been stuck with our human flaws for millennia, yet, collectively, we continually find courage to draw the imperfect circle anyway. We play with them. We paint them. We obsess over them. We admire them.

Yet we have never once embraced a perfect circle.

We can’t come up with the criteria to even identify one, but think of where we would be I’m as a civilization, if we allowed perfection to stop us and run our lives.

Part of the human condition is the wisdom to perfectly accept our imperfections!

If you look at several clear examples of success, or at the people you greatly admire, you will undoubtedly see perpetual failure, and undeniable flaws.

Every broken bone mends, but not quite the same. Every cut heals, but always leaves a scar. Every slice of cheesecake offers a delectable possibility of divine bilocation, but enhances the circumference and girth of your ass.

Our relationships don’t last forever. Our happiness comes and goes.

Nothing is perfect.


Everything that exists in the universe gives us any indication that we need to be perfect.


That is precisely what we strive for.

We buy into acquired illusionary ideals. We embrace visions and far-fetched expectations, that breed their origins with the perfect circle.

We obsess about being perfect. We don’t allow ourselves to accept any level of happiness, unless we are great. We consider it a failure, when we deem ourselves good enough.

We constantly measure ourselves into sickness. We measure ourselves into hell.

We obsess about perfectly doing, when we should accept our imperfection of being.

Successful people aren’t lucky. They only appear to be at first glance.

They are not perfect. I would beg to guess that they have an infinite number of flaws and a myriad of imperfections. Things that they hide, because quite frankly, it’s nobody’s business.

Success is achieved through perfect imperfection!

The sooner we allow ourselves the courage to take a million chances, the sooner we will experience success.

Success and failure, professional and personal, comes from the same well. It fills the same bucket. The only one we have. The one we were born with.

Happiness and success are achieved through a hundred attempts to fly. Thousands of attempts to quit. Millions of attempts to forgive, to move on, to say sorry, or to begin once again.

Success and happiness come to those who persevere. To those who embrace vulnerability and their magnificent flaws.

Don’t ever be afraid to be wrong. To look foolish. To take a stand. To dig ditches. To quit and begin again. To face yourself in the mirror. To freak out. To imperfectly stride forward, until your last breath.

Become perfectly imperfect.

Be you. Be glorious.