our deepest fear

One of my favorite passages of all time comes from "A Return to Love", a book by Marianne Williamson:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

When reflecting on the passage, I like to equate the idea of letting my light shine with that of loving myself.  And that said, the suggestion that my deepest fear is that of loving myself is one that disgusts me.

"french people are rude"

Or so it is said.

Of course, French people are not rude.  But you would probably think that they were if you were expecting them to be polite.

So expect things other than politeness from the French and you'd see them differently.  Better yet, expect greater.

In my own personal experience, French people have been many things.  Passionate, hypocritical, curious, resentful, resourceful, and stressed are only but a few of the traits that I've witnessed so far.  Nothing extraordinary, right?  Naturally, I find some of these flavors more pleasing than the others.  What's more, the presence of each of them varies from person to person and from time to time.  And all this would be normal, given the complex beings we humans are.

Above all, I saw the French not as rude, but as discreet.  Discreet in the sense that they tended to keep to themselves and to people that they already knew.  This discretion is of a highly subjective nature.  Arriving as a shy, English-speaking foreigner in the capital of a country with a strong cultural identity like France, I was assuming that I would be welcomed by the local community.  But no.  Nevertheless, I held on to my big dreams of making it as a Parisian, so I sought to practice savoir-vivre, improve my French, communicate only in French at soirées entre amis, increase my culture générale, appreciate wine, cheese, and other iconic French matters, and so on.  All that so that I could fit in better.  But no.  It seemed to me that most of the French people that I had met had a stable company of friends and that they did not need to bother anyone else.  Fortunately for me, I was able to find support in a couple of special people, friends and colleagues, some of whom were French or French-speaking but the most of whom were foreigners.  Yet outside of this group and sometimes within it, the feeling of lacking strong ties to the larger social environment remained with me.

Today, after seven years in Paris, I still do not see the French as rude.  My perception of them being discreet persists for the most part, but it bothers me less these days.  Looking back, perhaps this sense of discretion was a result of the culture shock that I was experiencing while settling in France.  But I now believe that it was mostly fed by my own past experiences.  In other words, it was me who was discreet.  It was me who had placed a barrier between himself and people.  It was me who chose not to bother anyone.  And it was me who saw a problem in all that.  That is why I have chosen since to love Paris, to invest in Paris and to improve my social skills while I live in Paris.

That said, if I must be dead honest, I cannot be sure that I'll make lifelong friends in Paris, in spite of my efforts.  Life is full of unexpected events and the people that I confide in could change their minds or their nature at any moment that seemed suitable to them.  I am myself also capable of botching up a relationship with a close friend if, for example, I suddenly decide to go in one direction whereas he is going in another.  Besides, since it takes two to tango as they say, I can only do so much.  And so much I will do, because of the great value that true friendship offers.  However, I accept the fact that there are some things that I cannot control.

What is more in my control, however, is being a better person.  Better as in less discreet especially.  And to do this, while I live in Paris, I will count on the help of the French people, be they rude, discreet, or whatever else is said of them.

We don't see things as they are.  We see them as we are.

‒ Anaïs Nin

why i love paris (5)

On Sunday, May 25, 2014, I joined other members of the Paris Sketchers crew in the 14th arrondissement of Paris to celebrate la Fête de la Nature (Nature Day).  The outing was a convergence of three separate plans.  First, there was Sigrid, an urban sketcher from Vancouver, who had informed us some months earlier about her visit to Paris in hopes to draw with us.  Then, there was Charlotte, a local urban sketcher and president of "Le Lapin Ouvrier", an association that manages a shared garden in the 14th arrondissement, who had invited us to visit her garden during the fête and ultimately sketch there.  Finally, there was Marion, another local urban sketcher, who had told us about a group of drawing enthusiasts visiting from Puerto Rico that were interested in sketching with others in Paris.  In light of these different contexts, the Sunday was bound to be one that would be not only rich in sights, sketches, and sunshine, but also rich in shared experiences.

From a personal standpoint, on this particular day, I was looking to draw my a-- off.  I had just returned from vacation overseas, and since I did not sketch a whole lot during the time away, I had fallen behind my weekly quota.  So I had some catching up to do in order to restore the balance.  Having taken account of the work already done, I figured that it would suffice to do 8 sketches with each requiring 30 minutes or less in the 3 or 4 hours before everyone got together for the usual drinks after drawing.  As you can imagine, this plan would leave little time to reflect on finished drawings or to engage anyone in a conversation, which were two things that I usually did.  Eight sketches in a few hours.  A goal that I had never attempted before, not even at SketchCrawls, where sketchers gather in different parts of the world to spend a whole day on a particular site doing nothing but sketches.

In the end, I could managed only 7 sketches, which was 5 more than my previous high.  Even though I succeeded in keeping my pen on the pages of my drawing book for (almost) three and a half hours, the time spent was marked by some pleasant distractions every now and then.

RECAP

After arriving at Place de la Garenne and saying quick hellos to Marion and Jean-Marc, both of whom were already at work, I went to unfold my stool in a corner of the square where I got warmed up by making the sketch below.

I found the view below of the Jardin de la ZAC Didot it interesting, so I started scribbling.  At some point, I noticed a group of about 10 people pass from the garden to the square with Charlotte and then walk over to where Marion was sitting.  They were the sketchers from Puerto Rico.  Afterwards, they came with Charlotte to say hello to me.  I stopped drawing for a chat with them, using the occasion to resurrect my Spanish with little success.  Fortunately for me, the group organizer spoke French.

Sometime later, Sigrid arrived, by bicycle.  I got to meet her and found greater ease speaking with her in English after we started off in French.

Things got interesting once I entered the garden.  Unlike the quiet and empty square, the garden with rather lively, with kids playing all over the place and curious adults peeking here and there.  I soon spotted Charlotte, who gave me the warmest and most animated welcome ever.  She then explained to me how the shared garden concept worked and even offered me a very raw taste of a few herbs grown there, notably thyme and tarragon.  After a while, when I was seriously itching to resume drawing, Charlotte found me a discreet spot under the shade in the middle of a enclosure that contained plants and a few trees.  I could not have asked for a better location.  From there, I found an interesting scene, except that Sigrid and Marion were in it, busy sketching away.  Even though I preferred to avoid drawing people, I felt that I had no other choice but to include the two ladies in the picture.

I needed one more sketch in the garden before moving on and quickly settled on the one below.  While I was drawing, Charlotte came to offer me some syrup made from quinces cultivated in the garden.  How kind!  At some point, Marion started announcing that we would be going shortly to Rue des Thermopyles, which was nearby. I had never been there, but I figured that it was a remarkable place.  I kept that in mind and raced to wrap up my sketch.

I joined in the walk over to Rue des Thermopyles.  Within a few minutes, we ended up on this mostly straight and narrow street that had a countryside vibe to it.  But what I found most striking ‒ and I am sure others can say the same ‒ was the extensive plant decor on facades of the buildings bordering the street.  There was even a thick bundle of leafy branches that traveled from one facade to the one across it, forming an arch of plants for people and cars to pass through.  It was all a sight to behold.  With great delight, I began to capture the view towards one end of the street, only to end up less than five minutes later with the view obstructed by a sketcher from Puerto Rico.  I was not sure of what she was doing since her back was directly in front of me, but as she did not leave the spot, I figured that she was sketching.  And she was.  At that point, I felt that there was no other solution but to put her in the sketch. I even had to draw her over the initial line I had traced to mark the edge of the left sidewalk.

I sought another view nearby that had nothing to do with the perspective of a straight and narrow street.  I found one simply by looking in the opposite direction.  There, Luis Alfonso, who led the group of sketchers from Puerto Rico, Marie-Odile, a local sketcher, and a sketcher from Puerto Rico were sitting on the sidewalk, filling in their sketchbooks.

Shortly after I had begun yet another sketch on Rue des Thermopyles, Marion was leading the group to go have drinks in a neighborhood cafe, which generally signaled the end of sketching activity.  I was determined to carry out my plan to finish, so when the group was getting ready to leave, I kept drawing, albeit more hastily.  After 20 minutes in a newfound solitude, I was done.  Sketch No. 8 was going to happen but on another day, since I was eager to reunite with the group.  Besides, I was also spent and my drawing arm needed to rest for a long while.  So I got up, folded my stool one last time, and set off in the direction of the garden that we had arrived from, very content with the efforts that I had produced, in the company of twenty other sketchers, some from Paris, others from farther away.

s'aimer ou ne pas s'aimer

I was on my way to work one morning last week when I saw the magazine cover below on the wall of a kiosk.

It's the June 2014 issue of a magazine named "Philosophie" and the main title on the cover is "Faut-il s'aimer soi-même ?"  Those words translate to "Does one have to love oneself ?" in English.

C'mon.  Really?

Is there more than one logical answer to this question?

Well, for the purposes of philosophical debate, there are several answers.  However, as far as the well-being of human beings is concerned, I see only one.

And, in my opinion, choosing to love yourself does not necessarily mean that the sole object of this love is yourself.

survival of the misfit

This is survival of the fittest
This is do or die
This is the winner takes it all
So take it All, A-All, A-All, A-All

...

But I want you to doubt me, I don't want you to buh-lieve
Cause this is something that I must use to succeed
And if you don't like me then fuck you, self-esteem
Must be fuckin' shootin' through the roof cause trust me
My skin is too thick and bullet proof to touch me
I can see why the fuck I disgust you, I must be
Allergic to failure cause every time I come close to it I just sneeze
but I just go achoo then A-chieve!

‒ Eminem, "Survival"

This is the song that I am feeling right now.  Right now meaning at the very moment that I am typing this.



As brilliant as the above video is, it's really all about the song.

It's so lyrical, so aggressive, so raw.  So Eminem.  And so like "'Till I Collapse", which happens to be one of my favorites.

And just like on that track, Eminem delivers a clear message on "Survival", and it is a similar one: when faced with adversity, you survive, or better yet thrive, by using the situation to surpass yourself.  Although this interpretation may fall short compared to the value of this song, it must be nonetheless noted that adversity as it is referenced here is perceived as a necessity, or even as an opportunity.

And the truth is that many of us, if not all, encounter adversity from time to time.  Job loss, breakups, financial issues, and health problems are some common ones.  While I am not immune to these kinds of adversity, the one that I experience on a more durable basis results from the feeling that I do not fit well in society.  The feeling of being a misfit, in short.  Misfit by his point of view, misfit by his ideas, misfit by his interests.  I accept that deep down within myself, this is what I truly yearned to be.  Not necessarily a misfit per se, but someone different.  Special.  Yet the pressures of society have been such that I often settled for a life where I talked and I behaved in the same way as the majority of the people around me.  Talk about conflict.

However, in spite of the external pressure and the internal conflict, the misfit in me refuses to rest.  It was never completely silent in the tough times of the past, so I do not expect it to be so in the uncertain events of the future.  Moreover, it has been by choosing to nourish this misfit that I have been able to give life to my operations.  It has been by choosing to nourish this misfit that I have been able to experience inner peace and plenty of joy.  It has been by choosing to nourish this misfit that I have survived well enough and long enough to write this.

So, in the words of Eminem, who also sees himself as a misfit, this is something that I must use to succeed.  To surpass myself.

But this is not just survival of the fittest, as the chorus of "Survival" says.

This is also survival of the misfit.

I used to be the type of kid that, would always think the sky is fallin'
Now I think the fact that I'm differently wired's awesome

‒ Eminem, "Legacy"

why i love paris (4)

It was December 25, 2013.  I was going to meet up with members of Paris Sketchers group at Musée Jacquemart-André, in the 9th arrondissement of Paris.  It would be only my second outing with the group since becoming a member the month before, and I did not know Marie-Christine, who had suggested the outing.  I had found it strange at first that someone would imagine asking people other than family and friends to join her in visiting a museum on Christmas Day.  As such, I had expected to do anything but show up.  But knowing that I would be in Paris as the day drew closer, I found the idea more and more appealing.  In the end, I embraced the strangeness of it.

Passing through the courtyard lying between the ticket booth and the entrance to the museum building, I felt the cold.  I was even surprised to discover two sketchers there, busy at work.  I went over to meet each of these courageous individuals.  There was first Marie-Christine and, a bit farther away, Savath.  They were friendly and showed me their sketches.  It was great knowing that they were around, as if that was the encouragement that I needed to start drawing.  But I was not going to do that outside.  It seemed too much for my body to bear.  So I went inside the building to take a tour.  It was a small museum, but its rooms were pleasantly laid out and well adorned with paintings, sculptures, plants, mirrors, chandeliers, and other fancy objects.  In spite of this richness, I could not settle on a subject to get the drawing juices flowing.  I ended up returning to the courtyard to try my hand (and eyes) at the facade of the building.  If Marie-Christine and Savath could brave the cold, I could too.

I found an empty bench on one end of the courtyard and facing the center of the building that seemed perfect.  The foldable stool that I had brought was no longer necessary, so I placed that on the bench, next to the pouch containing pencils, eraser, and cutter that I kept beside me.  And off I went.  While I drew, visitors kept passing by, either to enter or to leave the building, and as far as I could tell, they did not always notice me.  When they did, their attention was generally held for an instant before they continued along their path as if nothing had happened.  Less discreet were several Asian tourists.  Some of them took pictures of me, sometimes asking for permission, sometimes not.  Others approached to see my sketch and may have given a compliment.  One man even came by and sat on the bench with me for a while.  There were some empty benches nearby, but he made sure to choose mine.  Coincidence?  Who knows.  In any case, I was too focused on my drawing to chase him away.

This focus disappeared as slowly as the rain appeared.  I had made great progress on the sketch, but it was far from finished.  I felt like being at a crossroads.  Having always succeeded in bringing my drawings to a state of completion, I wanted to finish what I had started.  But I feared that the rain would fall down harder than in the light drops that I was feeling.  Besides, I had become aware of the cold.  Ultimately, I aborted ship and went back inside.  I was not particularly satisfied with the sketch, but I believed that I had done what I could given the circumstances.

After scouring the building floor to floor to find a place from where I could sketch without being disturbed by the stream of visitors passing through, I found a corner at a dead end on the top floor that was small enough to discourage a crowd from approaching.  What's more, it provided a superb view of the ground floor and the staircase linking it to the top floor.  It was perfect.  So I unfolded my stool there, sharpened my pencils using the cutter, and started sketching.  Since the corner was partially bordered by a decorative handrail that extended horizontally from the top of the staircase, I spent some time standing in order to capture a clearer plunging view.  From time to time, I caught sight of people coming up the stairs, notably a large group of Italian girls, yet hardly anyone dared to come towards the corner where I was.  The rare ones that did usually asked for permission to look at my sketch and left after saying something kind.  One woman in particular came by and said nothing like the other curious folk before her.  I did not recognize her after she caught my attention and she began to introduce herself, in English for that matter.  Then I figured it out.  It was Kim, the administrator of the Paris Sketchers group, with whom I had corresponded over e-mail when I was trying to become a member.  I had gotten the sense at that time that she was American just by the way she expressed herself in writing. In person, talking to me, she had to be American.  In any case, she had a friendly demeanor and I connected well with her.  She informed me that she had just arrived at the museum and that all the sketchers would be meeting in the cafe on the ground floor around 4:30pm ‒ which I took as the deadline for stopping all sketching work.  And then she left and would later find a bench at the base of the staircase to sit in order to make some sketches of her own.  Knowing that I had a clear deadline motivated me to get into my drawing more, and I began to fill in details wherever I could.  Eventually, I was lost in my work.  The effort and its progressive results were definitely making up for the incomplete sketch of the building facade.  When I decided that there was nothing more that I could enrich, I was very pleased.  I even felt that I had reached a new high in my drawing.  In fact, the high went beyond the drawing, because until then I had never spent a period of more than 4 hours in a museum without appreciating a single work of art put on display ‒ and enjoyed it.

Just before the clock stroke 4:30pm, I packed up and went downstairs to the cafe to join the crew.  Still high on enthusiasm, I walked into the room oblivious to the fact that there was a queue at the entrance.  Someone made sure to let me know, though it did no longer mattered as I had already spotted Kim and Marie-Christine at a table.  I went to take the seat across Kim and began chatting with them.  We ordered some time after that ‒ all that drawing had left me hungry ‒ and then resumed our chatter.  Savath would arrive later.  During our time in the cafe, we showed each other our works du jour, giving and receiving compliments and comments.  I was truly in awe of some of the sketches that I saw, wishing to master the techniques used.  Besides the drawings, I got to learn more about the other sketchers.  I felt relaxed in their company, which was due in large part to Kim.  The both of us got along very well so quickly that I was surprised at how spontaneous and how expressive I was with three people that I had just met.

While we were leaving the museum, I could not help but look forward to future outings to do urban sketching in Paris, whether it was on Christmas Day or not.

the art of saying bonjour (1)

I arrived at the platform of line 14 at the Bercy metro station in Paris on my way to work one morning last year.  The spot where I chose to stand was exactly where I needed to be in order to end up in front of the escalator in the metro station where I was going to get off.  Nearby, a woman who seemed to be in her 40s or 50s waited also.  The metro came shortly, and we both entered through the same sliding doors.  As the doors began to close, I turned towards the lady and said "Bonjour" ("Hello").  She looked at me and said "Bonjour" in return.  Her reply was clear albeit timid, and she had an expression on her face that conveyed a slight confusion.  She took glances at me, and soon enough I started to feel uneasy.  Then she came closer to me and asked, "On se connaît ?" ("We know each other?").  "Non", I replied calmly.  Her confused state remained and I imagined that she was searching for an explanation without wanting to ask me for one.  I could not tolerate the situation any more, so I decided to resolve it by reassuring the lady with a "C'est comme ça" ("It is what it is").  She let out a smile.  I was no longer uncomfortable.  In fact, I was happy.

The good ol' "Bonjour".  Believe me, this word is magic.  Saying it is clearly one of the simplest and most socially acceptable interactions that you can have with just about anyone.  And I think that many people do not realize this.  Sometimes, we tend to wait for others to say bonjour to us before we decide to return the favor.  When they do, we greet them similarly and often become more agreeable towards them.  If they don't fulfil our expectation, we may become resentful, telling ourselves things like "He did not even say bonjour!"  To me, these attitudes reflect the value of saying bonjour, not only to people that we are familiar with, but to anyone around us.  Needless to say, it is an initial step when we want to acknowledge someone or to connect with someone, even if for 30 seconds.  Moreover, I have found it on occasion to be a simple and effective way to disarm or appease people who I might at first perceive as harmful or distrustful.  As result of saying bonjour to these individuals regularly, I have noticed my perception become more neutral, leaving me to conclude that I had judged them because I did not know them well enough.  Indeed, anytime we attempt to reach out to someone, familiar or not, we expose ourselves to the risk of rejection.  But what is the worst that someone can do to you when you greet them bonjour?  I suppose that either she would ignore you or she would make a harmless gesture of disapproval towards you.  In any case, any disappointment felt after this kind of reaction is ephemeral especially if you consider that there is probably someone else not far away who is eager to respond more favorably to your bonjours.  Besides, such experiences of disappointment can be very well tolerated if the bonjours are given out with joy in a generous way, since most people respond to joy with joy.  Along with their joy is the one that you can give yourself by turning the gift of "Bonjour" into an art to be practiced regularly.

For example, you can say "Bonjour":

• to people waiting for the metro
• to people standing inside the metro
• to people in line to enter a boulangerie before you join the line
• to no one in particular when you enter a boulangerie
• to people while you walk down the aisle of a train car
• to people that you encounter in a movie theater while you look for a seat
• to each person at his or her desk when you arrive to work in the morning
• to people that you cross when you walk long corridors at work
• to the pretty girls
• to people in the showers at the swimming pool
• to the first ten people that you cross after you leave home

In my own experience, saying "Bonjour" allows me to open up more.  It's great when the recipient returns the bonjour, since that can take the interaction further.  However, as it is more important for me to become open, I do not depend too much on the reaction of the recipient.  Having given the gift of bonjour in a way that I find interesting is fulfilling enough.  And so, quite naturally, there is an operation dedicated to saying bonjour, appropriately called Bonjour.  Perhaps it was natural also that it would be the precursor of all operations.

I leave you with a brief message below from our friends at the RATP.

Long live bonjour!

"1 bonjour costs next to nothing, it changes everyday living."

fight for my right to write

I have a guilty pleasure.

And it is called writing.

Okay, maybe it is not guilty pleasure material.  Nevertheless, I have enjoyed writing for the longest time.  When I was a teenager, I began exchanging handwritten letters with friends and family, an activity that I carried well into adulthood.  Things then took a drastic turn in college, when I rediscovered the French language.  I started taking a vivid interest in verb conjugation, word gender and other aspects of the grammar, making it all work in every sentence written.  Answering an essay question on a French class exam was a very exciting moment, since it was essentially a creative writing opportunity.  Later on, a few years of my professional experience under my belt, I signed up for evening classes at Alliance française in a quest for fluency, so that I could describe what ever I wanted clearly, richly, and naturally.  In love with French classes again, I was able to develop my writing skills for four years, sometimes even having the instructor review my reports (and this was not homework).  During the same period, I maintained correspondences with Francophile and Francophone friends that would last several years (you can guess who wrote more).  For a time when I was in my twenties, I even got into travel reporting, producing detailed accounts of trips in French and sometimes in English as well.  Filling up 11 pages of a Microsoft Word document with a description of a two-week summer vacation spent in Europe remains one of my favorite memories.  You could say a memory of a memory.  And once I had finally settled in France and fluency in French was no longer a priority, I decided to try my hands at Spanish.  Guess how I started learning the language.  By writing.  While I spent some time improving my listening skills and my pronunciation, it was largely by writing out answers to questions in grammar exercises and by composing e-mails addressed to Spanish-speaking friends that I developed my interest in español for two years.  Also in romantic relationships, writing found a place.  I remember once having a dispute with a former girlfriend.  I had a point of view on the matter being discussed but I had difficulty in making it clear to her vocally.  So I decided to put it in writing.  That gave me the opportunity to put my thoughts together and to make them coherent.  After she saw (or rather read) the fruit of this effort, she was able to grasp a bigger picture and to understand better what was happening.  Or so it seemed.  She had broken up with me a month later.  I tried to get her back a few times by writing lengthy e-mails pleading that she reconsider.  Looking back now, that may not have been the best means, but I could not help it then.  I really wanted to write, so I wrote.

Today, in my thirties, and I am clearly still writing.  In fact, my writing efforts are mostly focused on my blog.  This blog.  It's a lovely thing, to have ideas to explore and express.  It takes a substantial amount of time to develop a idea and to structure the text that presents it, but, at the end of the day, it is a pleasurable activity.

Yet writing is like talking or thinking.  It is so easy to do.  And while one might succeed in giving the most compelling talk or in producing the most insightful thought, that alone would not suffice when it comes to changing a life for the better.  At the least, some action would be necessary.  Actually, a lot of action would be necessary if the exact purpose is change, and perhaps more so than a lot of talk or thought.

But I really enjoy writing and I do not want to give it up.  It is a guilty pleasure after all.  Who gives up guilty pleasures?  Besides, I am trying to liberate my mind, and writing appears to be useful to that end.  So what to do?  Well, you write ... and you act.  Even better ‒ you act and you reward yourself for the actions taken by getting to write.  Talk about a win-win situation.

Roughly speaking, every other article on this blog has been produced this way.  Usually, one article gets out every week.  Every odd-numbered week, I publish an article freely.  But to be able to publish on an even-numbered week, I have to act by completing a certain number of actions, or operations as I prefer to call them.  If this quota is not reached, then that week goes by without a published article.  Sure, I could care less about the number of the operations completed and patiently wait to publish during the odd-numbered weeks.  But I keep having ideas that I would like to explore and express, and I would very much prefer them being out there instead of clogging up my mind.  Also, I want to get stuff done, just because that tends to change a situation more than thinking, talking or writing a blog.  If I am rewarded for having gotten important stuff done with the offer of a guilty pleasure, it is really all good.

With continuous discipline, this relationship between writing and doing gets stronger.  Yet, if the doing remains the same over time like a habit, the level of excitement that was initially there will eventually decrease, the writing will start to lose its meaning, and, in the end, there will be nothing to fight for.  So the doing has to keep evolving, in quantity and in quality.

I do not want the ideas expressed in this blog to lose their meaning to me.  So I choose to keep applying them by doing.  Doing more and doing better.  Fortunately, there is a lot to be done.

Rest assured that I did fight for my right to write this.

difficulty is unfamiliarity

There is no such thing as difficult.  Only things that we are unfamiliar with.


I am going to bet with you that the above statement was inspired from that famous quote from the Stoic philosopher Seneca.  You know, the one that goes "it is not because things are difficult that we do not dare, it is because we do not dare that things are difficult."  Have you ever heard anything so simple yet so great at the same time?

I haven't.

All I ever wanted was to live a satisfying life.  For as long as I can remember, that seemed too difficult to achieve.  Sure, I felt good every now and then, but it was hardly anything fulfilling.  I knew something was missing.  After a long search for a solution, I realized that I needed to start exposing more.  Exposing things like my deepest feelings and my most cherished ideas, and this especially in the face of people that I knew and of those that I did not know.  In short, the very thing I had spent my whole life avoiding by maintaining the image of a person who was reserved and solitary.

Due to this avoidance, I had little experience in letting myself be exposed (and consequently in drawing the attention and judgment of others).  I had long believed that it was the most difficult thing to do, so I never went near there.  But Seneca thought otherwise and his words challenged me.  If I was serious about having a satisfying life, all I needed to do was get familiar with this kind of exposure.  I did not even have to think of daring anything, since the idea of daring is closely linked with that of having fear.  And we all know the effects that fear has on us.  You can find my favorite example here.

So how would you get familiar with a subject that you imagined useful but that you did not know?  Well, you would read about it, write about it, think about it, talk about with other people, try it, and so on.  And then repeat.  If one of these separate tasks seemed difficult, let's say that of trying, it only meant that gaining more familiarity with the task would be necessary.  You have tried one thing before, right?  Well here is another opportunity to try once more.  This time though, it's a new thing.  What makes it seem different to you from what you tried successfully in the past?  Keep asking questions and looking for answers.  You will find that the process of getting familiar becomes more interesting.  You might even become inspired, simply because you made the choice to confront something that you had imagined useful and difficult.

For my part, I decided to expose more in the public eye.  My operations are one proof of that.  The blog that you are reading is another.  The latter could focus on the touristic travels that I have made, on recipes that I have attempted to pull off, on encounters with famous people, or simply on ordinary events from everyday life.  While I do appreciate such things, my true self is not too concerned with them right now.  The things that I value more tend to be less concrete.  They include feelings that are often universal and ideas that have the potential to influence the life of an individual for the better.  My own life for the better.  I had gone searching and it was these feelings and these ideas that I found.  I believe that exposing them is the solution.  And I don't want to reject a solution discovered to a worthwhile problem just because I imagine its implementation being difficult.

So I am going to get familiar.

Contrary to what we usually believe, moments like these, the best moments in our lives, are not the passive, receptive, relaxing times‒although such experiences can also be enjoyable, if we have worked hard to attain them. The best moments usually occur when a person's body or mind is stretched to its limits in a voluntary effort to accomplish something difficult and worthwhile.

‒ Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

dare to dream

I recently discovered this gem thanks to Peggy, a young woman passionate about living her dream and creating her reality.

What this video illustrates in less than 8 minutes, this blog has attempted to communicate for a year ... and came up short.

So for once I will not say anything else.  Except that I really liked the fact that the whole thing was drawn.

You can show or hide subtitles by clicking on the rectangular icon to the right of the clock.



The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.

‒ Eleanor Roosevelt