“Doing my best” doesn’t just mean bouncing back from failure; all that requires is a measure of stubbornness.  Doing my best means milking failure for every ounce of knowledge it contains, no matter how painful it may be to contemplate those lessons, and then applying everything I’ve learned to my next challenge, with just as much vigor as before.

From what I’ve seen, many seem to think that admitting failure breeds negative self-worth.  But I believe that it’s crucial to admit failure in order to grow from it, and that confusing that admittance with negative self-worth is an indulgence in ego, or a shortcoming in critical thinking.  We should be honest about our failures; it’s part of the process in not just achieving success in this or that, but in achieving the ULTIMATE success:  using all our experiences—not just the good ones—as ways to hone ourselves into the people we wish to eventually become.

When I hear that it’s a common thing for veterans as well as those who have recovered from serious illness as well as those who were once poor and now rich to sheepishly admit they were happier in times of adversity, I realize that it’s imperative for me to continually challenge myself, to—and I’m not advocating flagellation or masochism—always be engaged in something that sharpens my body, sharpens my mind, and PUSHES me.  Otherwise—especially in light of the excesses that are readily available to us in this day and age—I think it’s entirely possible that I might fall into a wealth of misery.

Perhaps you’re like me, and have known many people who depend on luck to wash away their problems, never realizing that it is discipline and audacity that positions them to ride those same tides of fortune.  Let’s say those people got their wish, and were constantly buoyed by circumstance (and, like many soul-sick trust fund babies, suffer from a lack of adversity).  Even if their luck didn’t run out, these people would never realize the bone-deep satisfaction of pushing themselves, of failing and getting up, of succeeding maybe, but always holding firm in their joy of honing their inner selves.  If those people got all the luck they wished for and never learned how to sharpen their spirit into a keen-edged blade…

I’d say that would fit the very definition of a luckless life.

(I suspect this is a valid progression) First someone sees there’s power in words, then they see that words are concepts, so then they think there’s power in concepts, but then they see that concepts are largely illusory—that a concept’s importance is determined by someone’s ability to iterate it into physical reality and that it’s also dependent on context…and then it becomes possible to alter physical reality by channeling a concept.  You can call that what you want—power, genius, magic, creativity…

I like to call it “fun.”

Something I strive to do as a writer is to spend a sufficient amount of time on my story to ensure I’ve created something my readers will tear through in a day or two…then curse me for taking too long on whatever I happen to be working on.  😉 

It’s been said that discipline equals freedom and I believe there’s a measure of truth to that…especially for those lacking the discipline to live life as they wish.  But IMHO, a better definition of freedom (within the confines of humanity) is the willingness to shift your perspective into whatever mode you need at any time you want.  Call that whatever you like; many words/phrases hint at it, and I believe all of them fall short.  I think truth lies somewhere in the mosaic made by those disparate terms.

Have fun playing human until you remember you’re a [God].

I suspect that the key to achieving a transcendent level of peace is embracing the idea that at some seemingly unknowable level where I am omnipotent/omniscient, I recognize myself as the very thing that voluntarily brought strife upon my selves.

In creative pursuits, the appearance/feel of simplicity is made possible through long, boring hours of mucking through complexity/imprecision.