In this long period of contemplation, I’ve come to equate boredom to a lack of self-faith. Here’s why:
Notwithstanding everything I can’t do, I can think. Granted, some deliberations are darker than others. Some lead to despair. Despair can lead to depression. Depression can lead to worse. I’ve been there. I’ve done that. I’ve reaped the results of risk and reward. I’m lucky. And I know it.
But those experiences — those risks, those rewards, and that luck — aren’t badges. They don’t make me better. They don’t make me superior. They don’t make me savvier or better-equipped. They don’t make me stronger. And they certainly don’t make me unbreakable.
They make me sympathetic. They make me compassionate. They make me open. They make me realistic. They make me self-aware. They make me vulnerable, fallible, human. And they’ve given me a measure of self-faith I choose never to relinquish.
Love is not a choice. It’s a gift. It’s given to all of us. Cherishing those we love is a choice.
Thinking is not a choice. It’s a capacity. It’s given to all of us. Believing in what we think is a choice.
Self-faith — loving ourselves — is not a choice. It’s part of our natures. Refusing to surrender that part of our natures, refusing to let it be taken from us, is a choice. It’s the choice between boredom and creativity, between fear and imagination, ingenuity, and happiness. It’s the choice we have right now.
Hope is not a choice. It’s the product of what we believe in ourselves to do.
What do you believe you can do?