I’ll have days where I’m frustrated, days where I’m cranky, days in which not even a buffalo chicken salad and a cupcake with a soy latte afterwards will make me feel better.
I won’t always have weeks where people tell me I was “incredibly helpful,” weeks in which people will tell me they’ve found their purpose and calling, weeks in which I remember each and every day why it is that I quit the corporate world and went into public service and student affairs.
I won’t always be happy. I won’t always be healthy. I won’t always be at my best.
But it’s because I am human.
I am not a perfect being, nor have I ever thought myself to be anywhere close. I love myself, despite the mistakes and in light of the small victories I forge day to day.
I have no idea how long I’ll live. I could be hit by a car tonight, die of a disease in a decade, live to be one-hundred-and-three. Does it ultimately matter, though? Or is what matters the fact that I have tried to become a better person and, in turn, done what I can to help others discover their potential? Unless the universe collapses on itself and erases all evidence of my timeline, I have already lived. I am history.
Even so, with each day I get, I know that I have more work to do, more energy to share, more life to give.
In summary? Well, I’ll just put an end-of-the-week spin on a commonly-heard saying…
I want to live boldly so that others may boldly live.