from the way we define success in our everyday existence?
No matter how much a person spends his or her life burning the candle at both ends, chasing a toxic definition of success and generally missing out on life, the eulogy is always about the other stuff: what they gave, how they connected, how much they meant to the lives of the real people around them, small kindnesses, lifelong passions and what made them laugh.
So the question is:
Why do we spend so much time on what our eulogy is not going to be?"
"I need a new word for
„love“. This one doesn’t begin to cover all that I want to say.
It feels raw and
overused. It rings back slightly hollow. And I want to say something so tender
it almost breaks your heart, and something so strong that would make you
physically shake, and something so timeless that you would learn to know
everyhting that ever existed and then forget all about it again with a blink of
an eye... I need something that would squeeze you like hugs and make you feel
safe, and burn you like desperate kisses of a last goodbye... something that
would drift you away, somewhere where you would find me, always..until the end
of time, we’d have a place for us.
...but, for now, we have the word for it. Love. The secret
code of all lovers who have vowed the word to each other countless times, since the beginning of all beginnings. The word which
has promised so much, to so many. The word which embodies all hopes and dreams.
The word. The word which wouldn’t have any meaning, if there wasn’t anybody who
could fill those four letters with all the happiness of the universe.
We do share the code. But it’s not in the word.
It’s in what we see when we are together, and in what
we feel when the whole world around us
"In the area of design we still don't understand how to attach devices to the body mechanically. It's extrordinary that in this day and age one of the oldest, mature technologies in human timeline - the shoe - still gives us blisters! How can this be? We have no idea how to attach things to our bodies!
Imagine if our clothes and shoes were not designed and manufactured using artists and strategy, but rather data driven quantitative framefronts - in that future our shoes would no longer give us blisters. If we designed our clothing to be stiff and soft whereever needed, whenever needed, our clothing would be not only aesthetic covering but would support our abilitites and disabilities. We're beginning an age in which machines attached to our bodies will make us stronger and faster and more efficient. Imagine if what you wore could mirror YOUR body tissue perfectly - you would never feel dicomfort again. And that would be only the beginning."
Beauty is everchanging. There is no one answer to defining beauty. It's inifinte. It's unreachable. And just when we have started to believe that we have the answer to it - it slips from our fingers. Beauty is a tease. It laughs at you playfully as you admire and desire it from afar, mesmerized, trying to grasp it, to own it. Beauty is rare, yet it's everywhere. You can never get used to it - or it loses it's essence. Beauty needs to stay mysterious. It has a life of it's own, always one step ahead of us.
The standard of beauty has been defined differently throughout history - from Willendorf's lushy Venus, to small-chested delicate ladies of early renaissance, to pin-up boom of the last century. Beauty has been made a question of fashion. Not a quality that shines from within, rather a social standard that we must keep up with.
Everybody wants to be accepted, everybody want to be admired, everybody wants to be desired. It's basic human nature to follow the social conducts created before us - after all people are social creatures. But something is essentially wrong here. We, normal people, are pushed to an endless chase of an illusion. When the standards of beauty come from outside of us, we can never reach "there". We are always going to be chasing, always going to be trying, making our best effort to match our selves with the standard of the collective illusion... As social creatures we do need this form of communication that our bodies as physical image allows and enables, but it's absurdly misleading how much stress we put on it.
"For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others;
for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness;
and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone."
Audrey said that.
She's still considered to be among the most beautiful women in our history.
And, yet, she was on to something. Something that should echo much louder in our consumption centered cosmo culture. It is a cliche to repeat that..
"Beauty comes from within"
..but until we have failed to realize the real meaning of these words,
I think it's worth mentioning again. And again. ..And.. again!
Not to say that the physical side is not important, because it it - it is fun and aesthetically pleasing and informatively functioning. But putting too much attention and pressure into it, we are living in a society with a limping foot, a box with a pretty wraping and hollow insides.
We can catch beauty if we create it from inside out.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, 'I — I hardly know, sir, just at present — at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'
'What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. 'Explain yourself!'
'I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, 'because I'm not myself, you see.'
'I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.
'I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, 'for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'
'It isn't,' said the Caterpillar.
'Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet,' said Alice; 'but when you have to turn into a chrysalis — you will some day, you know — and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?'
'Not a bit,' said the Caterpillar.
'Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,' said Alice; 'all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.'
'You!' said the Caterpillar contemptuously. 'Who are you?'
Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar's making such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, 'I think, you out to tell me who you are, first.'
'Why?' said the Caterpillar.
Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a very unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.
'Come back!' the Caterpillar called after her. 'I've something important to say!'
This sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again.
'Keep your temper,' said the Caterpillar.
'Is that all?' said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.
'No,' said the Caterpillar.
Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, 'So you think you're changed, do you?'
Parmenides was wrong - such lightness is not sweet,
it is unbearable.
"It's scary, almost paralyzing, to think about eternal return. But on the other hand, it means our lives have meaning, significance, weight. And we can learn to love that. Conversely, lightness may seem at first to be a sweet deal – no responsibility, no judgment, no meaning. Sounds like fun – at first. But eventually, we would like for our lives to mean something. We want them to have weight and significance, because we want them to matter.
The problem is, try as we might to give our lives weight…we cannot. Our lives are fundamentally light precisely because they occur only once. "
Einmal ist keinmal
“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance;
pray, love, remember; and there is pansies, that’s for thoughts...
There’s fennel for you, and columbines; there’s rue for you, and here’s some for me;
we may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O, you must wear your rue with a difference.
There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they wither’d all when my father died. They say he made a good end,— [Sings.]“For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.”
“She is not someone you understand. She is someone you watch, someone you use, someone you mourn. She is made for love but love is not made for her. Everything about her runs deeper than in you; her madness is truer, her mind brighter and better broken, and her anguish is in her bones, not her blood. You will never forgive her for dying, but she will aways be dead forever, and your horror means nothing to her anymore. That, more than anything is why you still dream about her and her flowers thrown like curses. She has made herself no longer yours to dream of, choking on her water, crawling through her weeds, living beneath the world; her body inviolate and violable no more, there in her resting place where no man rules.”
“A white rabbit is pulled out of a top hat. Because it is an extremely large rabbit, the trick takes many billions of years. All mortals are born at the very tip of the rabbit's fine hairs. where they are in a position to wonder at the impossibility of the trick. But as they grow older they work themselves even deeper into the fur. And there they stay. They become so comfortable they never risk crawling back up the fragile hairs again. Only philosophers embark on this perilous expedition to the outermost reaches of language and existence. Some of the fall off, but other cling on desperately and yell at the people nestling deep in the snug softness, stuffing themselves with delicious food and drink.
'Ladies and gentlemen,' they yell, 'we are floating in space!' but none of the people down there care.
'What a bunch of troublemakers!' they say. And they keep on chatting: Would you pass the butter, please? How much have our stocks risen today? What is the price of tomatoes? Have you heard that Princes Di is expecting again?”
When we are young, we have an awesome imagination. We do all kinds of things with enthusiasm and passion and no one really tells us: "Hey! You suck at it!", so we go on believing we are awesome. That's when you really come up with some really fresh ideas, they just keep popping up uncontrollably, and you keep on going because you have a passion for it, an untamed curiosity.
At some point you are bound to get really-really good at what you do.
Take a risk, stay true to yourself. Work your ass off. Question things.
Stand out. Face confrontation. Get better. Embrace who you really are.
We are only limited by our own fear which is caused by the labels that other people throw around. Do the things you have a passion for
and it will shine through everything you do!
Passion and belief in what you do is that little teeny-tiny factor X that will make you stand out,
that will make your life worthwhile, full of meaning and satisfaction.
Find that inner kid and ask what was their passion. And then go out there and do it.