"I am so lonely, but I know there is a plan. There must be. I can muscle through my life until the next move is clear. I miss you all so much. I am alone for most of the time. It's just me and the cats and dogs. Nobody comes up. Nobody stops by. It's not like it used to be -- so full of life. Perhaps I'll move down there with you. But not now. There is a plan, and I must follow it. I must follow it even though it's too quiet around here."
Observing how the English ivy wound its way around a small tree trunk, I asked my daughter why the English ivy simply didn't shoot straight up. Why did it take a circuitous route? It needs something to cling to, she said. I thought this was rather insightful, coming from a twelve-year-old girl. Instead of growing directly toward the sun, the English ivy tacked left then right until it had secured its position on the trunk. It held fast. It wasn't going to budge. This is why we fail, I thought. Oftentimes we never get directly to our goal but, instead, try, fail, experiment, try again until we inch forward. In doing so, we establish security. We are firm where we are. Those who attain their goals too easily, however, are bound to fall away. They are not wound tightly around the trunk. They can simply be peeled away. It is an interesting way to look at our failures, at any rate. Perhaps we are just ...
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