on being lost

Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh:

What preys on my mind is simply this one question: what am I good for, could I not be of service or use in some way?

Does this same question every weigh on your mind?
What are you good for? How will you be of service to your world?

Answer this honestly. Lift the mask of self-hatred we all seem to wear and answer. Ask people you trust. But really ask yourself and find the good for yourself. No one else's answers will matter as much as the one you supply. Go on a walk and think about it. If you listen and love yourself, you will hear it. 

Van Gogh was so lost, and yet he was so beautiful. He couldn't always see it, but we can. Believe you have as much to offer this world as he did. For a man that believed he was of no worth to this world, we sure love and needed him. Maybe you are as wrong as he was. 

Consider hating yourself just a little less for not having all the answers in this moment, for not knowing exactly who you are, for not knowing exactly what you want, and for feeling or being a little or a lot lost. Lost doesn't mean we are worthless. You have a place. 

Run if you want to: Bobbi Gibb

When she applied to run in the Boston Marathon in 1966 they rejected her saying: “Women are not physiologically able to run a marathon, and we can’t take the liability.”

Then exactly 50 years ago today, on the day of the marathon, Bobbi Gibb hid in the bushes and waited for the race to begin. When about half of the runners had gone past she jumped in.

She wore her brother’s Bermuda shorts, a pair of boy’s sneakers, a bathing suit, and a sweatshirt. As she took off into the swarm of runners, Gibb started to feel overheated, but she didn’t remove her hoodie. “I knew if they saw me, they were going to try to stop me,” she said. “I even thought I might be arrested.”

It didn’t take long for male runners in Gibb’s vicinity to realize that she was not another man. Gibb expected them to shoulder her off the road, or call out to the police. Instead, the other runners told her that if anyone tried to interfere with her race, they would put a stop to it. Finally feeling secure and assured, Gibb took off her sweatshirt.

As soon as it became clear that there was a woman running in the marathon, the crowd erupted—not with anger or righteousness, but with pure joy, she recalled. Men cheered. Women cried.

By the time she reached Wellesley College, the news of her run had spread, and the female students were waiting for her, jumping and screaming. The governor of Massachusetts met her at the finish line and shook her hand. The first woman to ever run the marathon had finished in the top third.

Thank you, Bobbi Gibb.