Hello and welcome to my blog–I greatly appreciate your interest and your time. I would highly recommend you start over to the right, where you see the pages listed (my favorite is Every Moment is a Choice). The most important stuff I could possibly think of posting is right there, so if you’d like to read about my thoughts on productivity and motivation, give it a go. Thank you and welcome once again!
Hey everybody! I’d like to apologize once again for neglecting my updates the past few days; they were hectic, it’s true, but I was lazy, and I could have made more of an effort. I am sorry.
But no mattered what occurred during our week, we always have to take time out of our week to rejuvenate, and for me, that’s today. And today, I was exposed to an extraordinarily rejuvenating quote. Well it’s not a quote really, I don’t think it was ever explicitly said, but I want to share it with you anyway.
Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn was a Soviet, then Russian author who wrote about his experiences in the gulags, the concentration camps of Soviet Russia. He wrote both novels, such as “One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich” and historical accounts such as “The Gulag Archipelago”. When speaking of his time in the gulag, he once said that there was a moment, a distinct moment, where he had a choice. He had three options.
His first option was to give up. To stop. He had the perpetual option, the permeating option, the option that we all always have…the option to quit. To just fall to whatever obstacles are in our way, to whatever weight is on our shoulders. His first option was to lay down and die.
His second option was to give in. He wanted to continue to live his faith in the face of oppressive atheism; he wanted to be free and he was enslaved. If he did not give up, he could have given in. He could have relinquished his religion for an easier life, he could have sacrificed his freedom on the altar of a little more comfort. He could have given in to the oppressors.
His third option was to go on. To last. To accept the fact that nothing was fire, to accept the reality that the world was against him–and indeed it was. We often allow ourselves to believe the world is against us, and it is a maddening cliche when we are reminded that ‘others have it far worse’. But indeed, they do. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn did have it worse, and he went on.
He was imprisoned, he was oppressed, and he went on.
This is what I leave you with today; a simple, afflicted Russian author who went on.
An incredible watch–please take the time!
Hello everyone! I’d like to apologize for my sincere lack of posting as of late; it’s been extraordinarily busy in my neck of the woods. I beg of your patience and continued faith.
Hoping all’s well with you!
Welcome, ladies and gentlemen welcome, to Opportunity Day.
I would like to bring your attention to a post I recently made; this one is a page, entitled ‘Humility: The Impetus of Improvement’. There, I stress that, without humility, we cannot undergo personal change and thus cannot be successful. This concept of humility is what I would like to focus on today.
Today, the Opportunity Day.
Today we’re going to keep score; it’s a simple exercise, but an effective one. I’d like for you to find a piece of paper–any old scrap will do, as long as it is large enough. I keep a little memo book in my pocket so I can jot down quick ideas and notes to remember, and it works just fine for me. I want you to keep this piece of paper on you for the entirety of your day.
Whenever you feel like you’ve done something right, done something good, demonstrated a positive quality, I want you to jot that down. It is as simple as if I showed patience or understanding to a complaining peer, or if I lent a pencil to a student in need–anything counts, no matter how small.
Whenever you feel as if you’ve done something wrong, done something bad, demonstrated a negative quality, I want you to jot that down. It is as simple as if I was short with a teacher because of a distaste for the content of the day’s lesson, or if I was unable to comfort a student in distress over his grades–anything counts, no matter how small.
Whenever you have free time, I want you to take a look at your list. Your list is yourself, chopped down and inscribed into basic qualities or actions. Humility relates to these things: qualities, and the actions they cause. So, we have used this list to remove attributes of ourselves on which our humility is not based–feelings, proclivities, desires, etc…
Remember, humility is not self-deprecation–it is not only the negative qualities you have listed. Humility is the summation of what you are; your strengths and weakness, positives and negatives. Today is an opportunity to be truly humble, to be rigorously introspective. Today is an opportunity to begin on the path, on the walk of self-betterment. It starts with being humble. It starts with knowing where you are pure, and knowing where you are faulted.
The list is a scary thing, you know. I don’t think anybody enjoys seeing their faults splayed out before them. But remember, humility is not just the faults, it’s the strengths too. So take consolation in knowing that you are, perhaps, strong in personal service to others, strong in history, strong in integrity, strong in honesty. Find strength from your strengths, if you will, and use that power, that motivation, that positive thinking to power action against your weaker qualities.
Humility is not just the faults, it’s the strengths too.
Welcome to Opportunity Day!
Hey everyone, sorry for the late post! Fell asleep on my desk this morning, woke up late–yeah, I seriously do that sometimes:D If you’re reading this post late, take tomorrow to be your Opportunity Day!
Sup guys! Got a new page for everyone. It’s entitled:
I appreciate your views and of course, your thoughts:D Cheerio!
She caught your attention almost immediately, the way that elusive set of keys suddenly stands out to you against a montage of monotony; like a magnet, like gravity, her pull was both undeniable and inescapable. She had hair–that’s what really snagged your eye–she had hair like polished copper; it gleamed in unabated sunlight, it cascaded down her slender, angled, and always slouched shoulders in resplendent, rippling waves of warmth. She carelessly turned her head, and everything stopped. She simply flipped her hair, just ran one nail-bitten hand through her polished copper, and the world grew sharper, sounded clearer, tasted better, smelled all the more lovely. She had hair like a fiery passion, and in every man caught in its magnetic tug, fiery passion it begot.
She had hair like polished copper, and eyes like flawless sapphires; they were the most breathtaking, breathsnatching, breathstealing, breath-holding-hostage-for-a-million-dollar-ransom blue you’ve ever seen. She had eyes that made you look twice–after her hair made you look once, of course–and those eyes of flawless sapphire reminded you of a noonday sky–no matter how hard you tried to resist a stupid cliche, those eyes reminded you of a beautiful, June, noonday sky. She had hair like a burning fire and eyes like a soothing lake; in one moment, a noonday sky gave way to an amber sunset, a brook of crystalline clarity tumbled into a glowing paradise to which she, only she, could ever bring you…oh! She had those eyes, those eyes of flawless sapphire…those eyes of a breathtaking blue.
She had an infectious smile. She plagued you, she contaminated you with a carefree geniality, a pure gladness, an effortless love. She had an infectious smile that obstinately tugged, like a small child vying for attention, on the corners of your very own lips; she had an infectious smile that bubbled her rosy-red cheeks and crinkled her soft button nose, the way it does in movies when they introduce the female protagonist, when the camera zooms in close and it’s kinda in slow motion and there’s some violinist playing in the background…it bubbled her cheeks and crinkled her nose just like that. She had an infectious smile, but she also had a deceptive smile, for she had the fiercest, the upmost fiercest, of tempers–her anger was the envy of many a warlord or curmudgeon; when she was irritated, she was enraged, and in her rage, she was an awe-inspiring storm, a tempest at which you had to marvel: her breathtakingly blue eyes embodied the torrential rain that her ire cast down in pelting sheets, her words were the lightning that set her fiery hair alight. She knew not moderation and she possessed no temperance, for when she was irritated, she was enraged, and when she was pleasant, she was jubilant, and in that sense, she had an infectious, deceptive smile.
She loathed, on principle, anybody who did not whole-heartedly enjoy Disney Princess movies.
She had an inexplicable but insatiable love for Indian food, as well as an innate ability to perfectly, hysterically imitate a sassy Hispanic woman. She didn’t particularly like cookies or pizza, two simply abominable distastes that she defended to the last. She loved anyone who agreed with her, made her laugh, or could juggle (save for those excluded by the above restriction)–she hated anyone who was too quick to judge, talked with their mouth full, or hated juggling.
She was, in short, an object of supreme fascination and of inexorable interest, of dangerous devotion and entrancing cheer. She was peculiar, in the sense that she was far and beyond ordinary; desirable, in the sense that she was genuine and flawed. She was…well, she was incredible.
So this is my first writing-content post on this blog, so please let me know what you think in the comments down below! Cheers to all–thanks for reading!