My Mind Is a Garden, Not a Garbage Dump
Last modified 1 week, 4 days ago.
My father describes his upbringing in Argentina, throughout the 50s and 60s, as hopeless. He said there was no point in trying, well. . . to do anything at all.
In that era and corner of the planet, dreams were not torn down, because people were torn down before they even bothered to dream of living a better life.
You were nothing, and you were ALWAYS going to be nothing. Don’t think any differently. The misery went on and on. That’s how he described it, at least.
Yes, that’s how he perceived it.
He was wrong.
We are responsible for our attitudes. No one can tear down our aspirations, unless we let them.
We all have a choice about how we will respond to our situation and lives.
My father lived as a victim of his circumstances. If it wasn’t his mother, it was his neighborhood. If it wasn’t his neighborhood, it was a corrupt government. Anyone or anything could be the scapegoat. And if only he had met the right person, then he would have been someone, or so he thought.
He was a victim. He really was. He did experience things that were unfair.
But to live as a victim, that was his choice. He lived as if his mind was a garbage dump, rather than something he could cultivate for the better to make the best of his circumstances, especially as an adult. Even after being in the United States for years, he could not bring himself to change or do things differently.
He was not responsible for the circumstances of his youth. Eventually, though, he was responsible for his life. At some point, we have to take that responsibility–we can’t keep being helpless children.
I refuse to live cynically or with no sense of divinity.
I know I have to take responsibility for my life. I am committed to doing the best that I can and seeing what happens. There are no guarantees, except for one. If I DON’T do my best, I am guaranteed to look back in regret.
No, thank you, to that.
I choose the hero’s path.
My mind is a garden that I cultivate, not a garbage dump.