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Life is Full of Battles (a repost)

Sometimes, certain things are relevant beyond a certain point in time. This post, for me, is one of those things. It’s something that’s been rattling around in my brain, lately, and it felt like it needed repeating.

If there’s one thing I know it’s this: you never get anywhere by giving up. Fighting for something isn’t easy. If it were, it wouldn’t be a fight. And, perhaps, it wouldn’t be worth it. Because how often do we take the easy things for granted? How often do we assume that [xyz] will remain steady?

Fighting takes a certain amount of heart and will. You can’t fight if you don’t want to win. And it’s often easier to roll over, say you tried, and give up. Walk away. Go to sleep. Bury whatever it is that needs burying.

Except, the opposite of fighting is giving up. It’s quitting. It’s dredging up a thousand excuses that equal I can’t, when all you really need is ONE reason to keep going. To keep reaching. To keep fighting. To take control and face down whatever destiny’s in front of you.

I come from a long line of very stubborn women. If stubborn is a gene, I’ve probably got a ridiculously mutated version. I wouldn’t know how to exist without it, though. While my stubbornness can be a hindrance sometimes (when I get caught up in the wrong idea, thing, or even person), I like to think it’s my best asset, too.

This morning, I was thinking about how often we swear we’re doing something – or insist we are a certain way. We swear we’re living life to the fullest – or that we’re fighters. But are we, really? Are you?

Me, I’m a peace-loving, person-hugging, human CareBear – who is far more likely to want to give you cookies than a black eye. UNLESS you hurt someone I care about, then I’m actually pretty scary. But you can’t tell that by looking at me. The thing is, when I have to, I know how to fight. I know how to dig my heels in. In those moments, giving up and backing down isn’t an option. Honestly, I’m terrible at giving up – on things, on people. Maybe that’s a flaw, sometimes. I don’t really know.

I knew someone, once, who was a runner instead of a fighter. Things would seem as if they were going in a certain direction, until the direction of the wind changed or he got scared, or whatever. Then, his method of coping was to flee. (Basically, he was Brave Sir Robin from Monty Python. THAT would totally be his theme music.)

Strong as he seemed, as grown up as he might’ve been, he was a flight – not a fight – when it came down to it. Of course, he was also an emotions-bottler, a confrontation avoider, and he had a fairly moderate case of Lying Jerkface. (Seriously, I want to use other words, but [I’m pretending to be a lady]. Suffice to say that you should just insert the worst name you can think of. YES THAT.) [Addendum: this assessment really isn’t an entirely fair one, anymore; however, certain things are still relevant. So, I’m leaving it in.]

Even when it’s hard, I try to stand up for what I believe in, for the people I believe it. I hate, hate fighting. HATE IT. But I can do it, when I have to. Sometimes, it’s like walking into a hurricane wearing a tutu – impractical and pretty damn ridiculous. But life is full of battles. You have to choose which you engage in, but you DO have to choose. If you spend your whole life giving up, it’s not going to be much of a life. If you spent your whole life being safe, it’s not going to be very fulfilling, either.

We talk so much about being strong, about fighting for what we believe in, and about seizing the day. We talk too much. We pontificate about love, about desires, about [someday, I’ll do this] – when I have the time. Guys, time? It’s not something that comes in a box, delivered by UPS. It’s not something you boil on the stove. You can’t buy it at the Mart of Wal. You have to make it. You have to take it. And you should appreciate every damn minute – every mistake, every time you fall on your face. Because that means you’re trying. That means you’re fighting.

And that? It’s everything.


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