Not Their Life

It is good to acknowledge that each of us has our own life to live. If I choose to live my life in a way that dissatisfies you, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to admit, it is my life to live, not yours. And what suits me may not fit you at all. I might enjoy sleeping outdoors on air mattresses and in canvas tents, while you prefer relaxing in plush suites at the Hampton Inn. I might take a late night stroll through a dimly lit village, while you would never dream of taking such a risk. Each of us is different, which is why each of us is so interesting. I guess Karle Wilson Baker captured the crux of the issue in a poem she wrote called, Creeds (Macmillan 1938).

Blue Skies

Friend, you are grieved that I should go
Unhoused, unsheltered, gaunt and free,
My cloak for armor – for my tent
The roadside tree;

And I – I know not how you bear
A roof betwixt you and the blue,
Brother, the creed would stifle me
That shelters you.

Yet, that same light that floods at dawn
Your cloistered room, your cryptic stair,
Wakes me too – sleeping by the hedge –
To morning prayer!

So enjoy who you are, who you were meant to be, and don’t worry if some don’t get it. It’s not their life to live.

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