September 7
Against every blow of misfortune there is a remedy: a composed mind. From one who belongs to himself, fate may well take much — only not what is essential.
Remedies for Fortune Fair and Foul (freely rendered)
Listening mode
Against every blow of misfortune there is a remedy: a composed mind. From one who belongs to himself, fate may well take much — only not what is essential.
When something that meant a great deal to you is taken away, a sentence is quickly at hand: That wasn't the most important thing. It helps. It draws a line between what is lost and what you are, and on the safe side of that line you can carry on.
Only, the line shifts easily. After each loss you declare a little more to be external, so that what is inside stays untouched: a job, a city, an ability you had long taken for granted. In the end the essential would be a very small point, unassailable because hardly anything belongs to it any more.
But some things you did not merely possess. They also shaped you: your attention, the course of your days, the way you ask questions. When they are gone, what is missing is not just an object beside you.
Being composed might then mean not playing down this gap. You can admit that something of you went with them, and as you do, hear who is admitting it. The voice sounds different from before. That it sounds different has by now become part of it too.
