Time for a New Approach
I have had to have a conversation with my mortality a couple times. Once from the seat of a bicycle, and another from an undisclosed place of recklessness and self destruction.
I owe this reality my love for the look, smell, and feel of fresh dirt, and vegetable starts sprouting up. The steaming sips of a fresh espresso, after a slow, satisfying lunch. The wobbling, curious, mental baby steps of learning new information.
Sorrows can germinate courage, and catalyze the strength to craft grand efforts.
A waste picker from Hasiru Dala passed away Wednesday. They contracted HIV from contact with reject waste, and were diagnosed long after it had progressed to stage four. They left behind two sisters that were also waste pickers. This tore through the lightly woven basket holding my carefully crafted mission statement of improving livelihoods, and settled like scrap metal falling from the sky.
The briefness of time allows for life to have meaning.
In the face of mammoth insignificance, showing respect to the time of others, trying fully, honestly, and completely imperfectly is the most important thing you can do. It will cost love and failures, and you will feel naked, cold, and alone.
I heard an insight. In calm, ageless words:
“If I had the power to turn back time, I would never use it, because then every moment that you go through means absolutely nothing, because you can always go back and do it again. It loses its flavor. It loses its beauty. When things are final, moments won’t ever come again.”
Six weeks can pass quicker than four, and once it’s behind you, it may as well have been 1 second.
If failure was impossible, what would you do in the next six weeks?
Waste worker opening a bag of trash over a conveyor belt to sort .