by tashmcgill | Aug 18, 2016 | Bodies, Culture & Ideas
I’ll say it sometimes, dropped into the lull of a conversation about somebody’s graceful movement.
Or somebody might ask, ‘You know, what do you call it, that step?’ and I will answer without thinking, ‘that is the pas de basque’ or I will say, ‘that was a ballonné’ and keep to myself how the hands may have been more precise.
Then to quizzical and bemused faces, I will explain it quietly, ‘I was a dancer, once.‘
When I was a young girl I loved the feeling of my hip flexor stretched to pointed toe in a fluid, long movement. The smell of a new leather ballet shoe and the extension of my torso while my legs shifted into fifth position with hands at two; ready to leap into that old and elegant language of bone and body.
I craved the forward propulsion of movement that came from the pirouette and the barre exercises that dominated my classes. The discipline of dance taught me to prize technique in every aspect of my life. Everything I learn now starts the same way – the movement in completion, then breaking down the steps until I have mastered each technique before bringing it all together. Ballet taught me the strategy of moving artfully from one place to another, step by carefully selected step. Technique will take you places talent alone cannot, so now my fingers move over the keyboard as fast as my thoughts move and my knife can dance across a chopping board. In learning to dance, I learned how to learn and learned how to execute.
Then I learned at 5’2” with curved, wide hips and too busty for my height, I would never be a ballerina. So I turned my attention elsewhere, put my ballet shoes away and took two buses to music lessons instead. For a long time, if left to my own devices on an empty stage, the dance would erupt from within me, my body didn’t know I wasn’t a dancer anymore. I would shut myself in the living room at any chance, turning up the stereo to dance freely. I would commandeer the empty school assembly hall in the brief moments of early morning to practice the steps that were not yet faded from memory.
Last week, I found myself alone in the gym, looking at the open space and remembering I was a dancer, once. I did not resist the urge to cartwheel, leap, lift and spin my extended right leg into a twist and finish in a plié. No one saw or questioned, laughed or scoffed. I just danced, as I am prone to do.
As it turns out, I can still pirouette, precise and straight from east to west across the room, and land a leap with leg extended and toe arched into submission. I can still feel the fibre of muscle and definition that lies underneath the soft curves of my body that will bend when asked, into concave and convex shapes or spread into a split with ease. The difference is that now my body dances alone in the dark, unwatched.
In all my dancing, I danced alone. To dance together requires a shared language, an assented understanding between two parties. Regardless of whether you dance for an audience, if you dance with another, you must dance for them too. That is what I have wanted to learn.
The first time I was taken to the dance floor with a partner – my hips froze and my body found resolution. Resolution to not move, to not engage. I needed language that I had no words for and nothing to take the place of words. Words couldn’t tumble out of my lips to make sense of what I didn’t understand or the questions I couldn’t ask.
Alone in the room, with an empty floor and only my own rhythm to follow, I can effortlessly freestyle and push my body beyond imagined limits. I am unhindered by the thought of who is watching or with me. I can make my own steps and choose the most interesting ways to move across the floor.
When I am not alone in the room, each of my steps is a response and will be responded too. My breath must change to accommodate new rhythms. Patience and bravery is required in new ways. All of a sudden I am aware of my dance space and the space of another. My body is less willing to leap and spin so freely; for the first time I lose confidence in my technique. Technique that has never failed me before.
By now, you should know this is both a true story about dance and a metaphor. I am a paradox of confidence and innocence, sometimes imagining more quickly than I can learn and sometimes learning more than I can practice. But there are a few things I know to be true.
I am changed. Still insecure, wary of misstep, but also brave I step into rhythm; willing to try without the security of technique to guide me. I am intrepidly exploring trust that makes me brave.
In this moment of exploration and discovery, I realise how much I have missed being taught. I have missed instruction and the security of being guided to perfect technique. And my desire is perfection that bears creation, experimentation and re-creation. I want to move more than I ever have, but a new way of dancing.
These old moves have been my safety net, the trusted and known. Suddenly I am inspired to new rhythms. I want new language for my tongue to stumble over and finesse until I speak this language with ease. I find myself wanting to dance for another, to move beyond technique to intuition.
I want to practice as I have never practiced before, bending flesh to my will and making beauty from my sweat, strain and gasping breath.
A long time ago, I wrote a poem about learning to dance. I find myself here, nearly twenty years later still learning and wanting to learn.
there’s a peace coming for a time
we will listen to the air for a while
competing and combining in breath and gasp
from two sets of crimson lips
tarnished hips and bruises
from this dance you teach
teach me how to breathe
and move again
I will not run or hide
I will try a little harder
keep slightly closer,
follow you and watch myself
imitate and learn this rhythm
you already know
and i have yet to learn
but there is peace coming
neither will care who
knew what when we began
this will be our dance for a time
circling, entwined
i will learn the things you speak
and never speak
that from limb and soul
peace does grow
what is new to me
can be new again for you
i will make it so
a gift to another, my other
your gift to me new language
for one who knows a thousand words
a thousand more will rise and descend
in sweet and heavy songs
and the ghosts will go
leaving us to dance
speaking to only each other
by tashmcgill | May 8, 2016 | Family, Monologues
Here’s the deal, Kid. I thought you’d be here by now but the truth is, you may never arrive at all. But I’m still your mama – fiercely, entirely and utterly yours. So I wanted to tell you a few things so you’d always know. Like how I want to love you so well and walk with you through all your failures. How I want to teach you everything I’ve learned while waiting for you and how I’m trying to be the best I can be for your sake. This is for you, kid – love from your Mama.
Dear Kid,
I’ve been waiting for a while to write these things down. Hoping I’d have the chance to tell you face to face one of these days. But ‘one of these days’ seems to be getting further away. There was a time I hoped you’d be five or even ten years old by now, though in hindsight, I’d be a better Mama now than then.
I say ‘I would’ because there’s no guarantee that we’ll get the chance to meet, kid.
Yeah, let that sink in a minute. It’s not how I wanted it to turn out either. I’m sorry, my darling. If you make it – if the universe conspires our way and I play my part and do my best, if love sends me a chance that I don’t fuck up and that man who is kind, strong and true loves me and wants you…then, maybe.
Kid, there are so many ifs in this world. So I’ll tell you now, so you’ll always know.
I will love you fiercely and as well as I can. I won’t make promises I can’t keep about nappies or organic food, how design perfect your nursery will be or how well-accessorized your buggy may be. But you’ll be fed, clothed, bathed and loved. It’s how I love you that will make the difference.
I will learn how to love you and give you the chance to learn to love me. I’ll help you love and understand your Dad and he’ll probably help me out a lot too. I do want to promise you, that I’ll do my best to model partnership with your Dad and to love him deeply. I want you to grow up knowing what real love looks like, feels like, sounds like and that you came from it.
I can’t wait to see who you’ll be and I’ll do everything I can to celebrate that. I will never ask you to be less of yourself. I will do my best to help you navigate the world as you are.
I want to be that Mama that you can laugh with all the time, a trusted place for your secrets, the Queen of spontaneous adventures. I want us to be late home because we had to stop to watch the sunset. For our backyard to always be ready for a sleep out under the stars. I want to share my love of traveling and adventure with you – teach you how to travel light through life and how to find your way home always.
Oh, I hope you get to see the world with big wide eyes and to embrace the wonder I have at the stars and the moon. I want all those things for you and then, I want to walk you through every crisis and every failure. I want to help you learn how to pick yourself back up and what it really means to be resilient (because that was the toughest and loneliest lesson for me). I know you’ll have times of loneliness that I can’t fix, but I want to walk through it with you. And I will try, with shaking hands and tears and self-control, to embrace your rebellion when you need to find your independence.
I guess what I’m saying is, I’ll try to give you just enough but not so much that being your Mama is more about me than it is about you. I want to be good but I’m not perfect. You’ll learn that but the point is I’ll try. I’ll try not to control you, shape you too much to my liking, I’ll try to engage with you as a person and teach you what discipline you need but to always explain ‘why’.
I dream of the day you will explain parts of the world to me that I don’t know, because you see it differently. And my joy will be that I taught you to see, not what to see. You will be so different from me, kid – but I hope you get the parts of me I like most.
Like dinner parties, books and lazy Saturdays, pyjama days, eggs-in-a-basket, beaches, day-dreaming in the clouds, stopping to drink in all the senses. I hope you love to snuggle and hug your whole life long. Otherwise know I will always be chasing you for kisses and cuddles. Of course, the parts of me I like best are my love of physical touch, the storytelling, the music and creativity, the deep well of laughter and wild abandon and the empathy and compassion. I hope you get some of that – it’s the stuff I’ve learned how to navigate best. But then, your Dad will have a lot to teach you too. I promise to make space for him. In fact, I hope there are times when he is your whole world.
Of course, I want our house to be that house where all your friends come after school and to have parties for the sake of parties. I want you to grow up knowing the love and strength of family that is both blood and choice. You’ll have a dozen aunties and uncles who will love you as their own, I’m sure. And my darling, some of them will be weird. That’s important, because the weird ones are the good ones. I won’t be everything you need in life, neither will your Dad. You’ll need your weird aunties and uncles, your friends too, to help you learn how to be, how to live and how to navigate the world. You’ll need them to talk to when you’re mad with us – which is bound to happen.
It’s hard to talk you and not think about your Dad, so I’ll say this. No matter what happens to he and I, in the long road of life – I’ll have the best relationship with him that’s possible at any time. You’ll see us fight, no doubt, but I plan for you to see us make up too. To know what healthy communication looks like. I hope you’ll see us love more than anything else, to team up for you and beside you and for each other. I really want for you to see that grittiness is okay. It’s real and achievable. That real is the very best thing because you get to define it yourself. Of course – these are lessons that I’m still learning, kid, so I’m letting you know in advance.
It takes a lifetime to learn to be yourself and I won’t get to see it all, kid but I will do my best to set you up on the right path. Not a path that leads to a particular destination of being a ‘this’ or a ‘that’, but the path of learning. Learning how to learn, learning how to be, learning how to love well. Before I go, I plan to see you a long way towards being yourself.
I hope you’ll benefit from the lessons I’ve learned while waiting for you. You see, that’s what I’ve been doing. I know that I’ll only do my best by you, if I’m the best version of me there is. The truest version of me there is.
So I wake up each day and focus on being as healthy and strong as I can be physically. I want to climb mountains with you and throw you in the air and make love to your Dad for my whole life. Oh wait… you probably didn’t want to hear that last part. But it’s true. I want you to grow up in a world of positive, life-giving beautiful touch – a house that thrives on the vital energy of life.
I wake up each day and look to strengthen my mind. I’m still becoming myself and learning to have my own voice after all these years. I’m taking down decades of barricades at the moment and it’s for you as much as myself…. I want to love you in my full voice, kid. I’ll keep working on it, whether you arrive or not. When you get here, you’ll bring a bunch more lessons with you, I’m sure. I will try to prepare myself in advance.
So I wake up on Mother’s Day, kid – and I’m thinking of you. If you don’t ever make it, it’s okay. I promise. Everything I’ve learned waiting for you, I needed to know anyway. But I wanted you to know, kid, that I’m your Mama through and through. Even the idea of you is a gift I’m glad of, a point in the compass that guides my way. I’ve been your mother my whole life.
Rest easy, kid. Maybe soon. Keep an eye on the stars and the moon – I watch them too, and I believe in magic.
Love,
Mama.
by tashmcgill | May 2, 2016 | Culture & Ideas
It is Sunday afternoon and the song of tui has caught my attention. That is not unusual – I hear the tui every morning when I wake up. But to hear the tui chattering in the middle of the day instead of dawn or dusk is different. So I heard her singing and walked into the backyard to see what she had to show me. After all, a tui is a messenger and I am constantly on the lookout for signs.
“Time passes in moments… moments which, rushing past define the path of a life just as surely as they lead towards its end. How rarely do we stop to examine that path, to see the reasons why all things happen, to consider whether the path we take in life is our own making or simply one into which we drift with eyes closed. But what if we could stop, pause to take stock of each precious moment before it passes? Might we then see the endless forks in the road that have shaped a life? And, seeing those choices, choose another path?” …… “What if there was only one choice and all the other ones were wrong? And there were signs along the way to pay attention to.” – Dana Scully, The X-Files, ‘All Things’.
Why look for signs? There are some people who don’t believe the world is a magic place anymore, if it ever was. It is all construction of our own will and coincidence. I prefer to believe there is an element of mystery. That we create from the hand we are dealt and the opportunities that come our way. Each choice is a signpost on the way and there are signs everywhere, if we choose to look and if we choose to see.
It’s a dance, I think. The more you look, the more you’ll see the language the universe is speaking in. It is no coincidence I have three messenger birds tattooed on my arm. The world is full of messages, if we will learn to tune in.
Some people say ‘when feathers appear, angels are near’, an assurance that someone is watching over them. I see feathers from time to time, almost always in the seasons of life that are challenging and chasing me. The first one I remember was in New York, when I needed someone to be watching over me perhaps more than I ever have before or since. That trip, I came to believe that no matter where I went in life or whatever happened next, I was going to make my own pathway through it.
And there were signs along the way to pay attention to.
Rolling down long stretches of American highway in the dark night, a green glow lights up in the distance. Eventually it comes barreling past me. The same destination written on the sign, just 50 miles closer than the last sign. 50 miles is a long way to drive in the dark without a single assurance that you’re still on the right road. Even though you haven’t met an intersection for hours, that road can be daunting and lonely. Fear and frustration like to turn up too, but all you need is another signpost to let you know you’re still heading in the right direction and therefore getting closer all the time.
I see a feather and my mind whispers to my soul, ‘You’re on the right path still, just keep going. Stay the course.’
Is it an angel, the universe or my desire to find evidence that supports what I believe to be true? It doesn’t matter. The meaning of the sign is for me and me alone. But I prefer a world with magic in it. I look and listen for the signs while I wait.
I’ve learned that things take time; these tiny fragments of life that rush past but when compressed together move like glaciers. I am never patient enough at first. Slowly, because time will teach you that slow is sometimes good I have realized the value in taking the long, dark road despite how lonely and daunting it appears. There are some things you can only learn on the slow road.
There are some dreams you simply can’t make happen yourself, you can only get ready for when the moment is right and the choice appears before you. I think there is a serendipity between getting ready and when the moment arrives. Few of us are born ready for the things we aspire to, let alone born with the vision to see the true possibilities. You have to learn how to learn what you discover you need along the way. And then learn to see the signs along the way so you don’t lose your path. In fact, some of us need to learn to see in entirely different ways.
A long time ago, I had a dream and I learned I needed to let it go – so my fragment of a vision could grow and become something new. I buried the seed and let it go. For a long time, I’ve been walking down the highway of that dream, realizing at times what the collection of moments have given me in wisdom, understanding and personal growth. So I am closer, but I have no idea where or if the road will end.
Today, the tui sang and I walked into the backyard to see it eating from the ripe, sweet fruit on the apple tree. It looked up at me and sang again. We share a moment and then a moment more. The tui flew into the tree behind the apple tree in the far back corner of the yard. I walked quietly and encountered the most amazing fragrance. It was sweet and tart and almost tangy. I looked at the tui, sitting in the tree that has never borne fruit in the 6 years I’ve lived in this house.
The fragrance was intoxicating and coming from the corner of earth littered with dark red fruit, the grass and dirt stained pink from the bursting skins. The tree itself was still heavy laden on every possible branch. The tui sang once more and took flight back to the apple tree, message delivered.
The winter is over. The tree that was bare has borne fruit. Stay the course, don’t give up.
Seeds buried might grow to trees and even then, you might wait another season before the tree bears fruit. But keep reading the signs along the way and you’ll be ready, when the moment comes. Pay attention.
by tashmcgill | Dec 6, 2015 | Culture & Ideas, Strategy
As I wrote last week, there’s a post-it note on my desk with the quote,
“Everything I’ve ever let go of has clawmarks in it.” David Foster Wallace.
Letting go of anything means change. Change is constant and uncomfortable. Very few human beings are wired to thrive on the thrill of the unknown. Most of us believe forewarned is forearmed and that minimising change is the utopian dream. We crave stability, without realising that stasis is the first stage before death.
While I echo Wallace’s sentiment, I can’t support his implied proposition – that to fight and cling is somehow noble. But Wallace committed suicide in 2008, having lived much of his adult life with depression and under medication in order to be able to work. I think Wallace’s fight to hold on and to resist change ultimately contributed to the ongoing breakdown of his life. You see, what we invest our energy into grows.
Change that we resist is usually an external pressure or energy; something that comes upon us. When you resist external force with internal force, the energy evaporates in the combustion of that reaction, but the energy is also lost. No one party gains from the other.
Over time, a resistance or refusal to respond to change depletes your energy and resource.
I experienced this a number of times in my early working life. The loss of a project, the change in a plan, the loss of a job. I clung and fought but each battle became harder to fight and each victory less sweet, such was the price of the battle.
So now, instead of fighting to resist change – I’m learning to surrender to it.
It may feel uncomfortable because in the Western world, our idea of surrender is most often associated with loss. We only surrender when we are in a losing position. But in Sanskrit, the word ‘surrender’ is translated to ‘give yourself wholeheartedly to something, to embrace the flow of your life.’
This idea of surrender is about where you put your energy and what you resist instead of embracing, what you embrace instead of resisting. A negative attitude towards change is a toxic learning environment. Learning should always be a by-product of change. A negative attitude towards change alienates and disengages you from those who would help you navigate it.
Surrender is powerful because it reframes our thinking away from bad conflict habits.
Surrender is powerful because you cannot embrace again without first letting go.
Surrender is powerful because it truly is the path of least resistance. Resistance is the enemy of hope in the face of change. We get to keep our energy for other battles.
Surrender is powerful because it focuses us on the posture we taking in learning, the resilience required to live with inevitable disappointment and the power of humility.
It is in surrender that you are embracing humility. Knowing yourself truly; good, bad and ugly. Confronting the secret and alone parts of yourself that are still laced with fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of being unsuccessful, fear of being unloved, fear of being wrong.
When I was confronted with the biggest change I’ve known as an adult; I fought it with all my might. I rallied in every conversation, I maintained an excruciating level of intensity because losing this project was not an option for me. I fought myself, my mentors, I fought with my friends and then I lost it anyway. I entered the dark shadow cave; confronted with loss and with blame. I felt ashamed that I hadn’t held onto what I had clung so tightly too in the past. Letting go felt like failure, but later I realised not letting go fast enough meant I had no time or capacity to embrace the lessons right in front of me. Change came and continued out without me, because I wouldn’t allow myself to get on board the train.
No matter what kind of change you’re undergoing, major or minor – we yearn for peace. We find it in surrender. Surrender to knowing that while we may not see the end result of change; change is assured. Change in of itself is not scary. Change can open new doors of discovery. Change can also be very, very wrong. But like a tsunami wave, it will not be stopped once started. Accepting change is a doorway to peace. Surrendering to the flow of your life is peace entering in.
Surrendering to change pushes us into the unknown, which is where we must be if we are to learn something new and to learn something new, we must ask the right questions.
- what will I learn
- how can I learn best from this
- how will I respond
- how will I help others
Surrender is the art form of leaning in, a gateway to vulnerability. As the world responds to us, change is quickened. As change is quickened, we are more truly ourselves. The more change we embrace, the more we have the opportunity to embrace the lessons that come with it.
by tashmcgill | Dec 1, 2015 | Community, Culture & Ideas, Friendship, Relationships
A year ago and a week ago, I passed under this bridge in a traffic jam, stuck again on Interstate 65. This piece of highway is a constant in my life as I travel between places and people I know.
I was stuck metaphorically too, stuck in a dream of a dream. The bridge is just a symbol, a lot of water has passed under this bridge since then. 372 days that see me further from one dream but closer to another. I don’t know what that dream is, but it must be a dream because it’s not yet real.
I think I must have grown up some but there’s a post-it note stuck to my computer screen that says “Everything I ever let go of had claw marks in it”, and it’s certainly true for me. I can feel the tingling in my fingertips. How much I want to hold to something, for something to be as permanent or certain as this bridge. I want to held on to; to be permanent and certain myself.
I’ve been learning you can’t hold on to what’s not real or permanent. You can’t hold on to what’s not holding you. Lorem Ipsum has no permanent home, just like a pipiwhararoa it flies from nest to nest looking for a place to call its own. No one holds on to Lorem Ipsum either.
Lorem Ipsum.
You probably recognize the phrase. If you’ve ever worked in design, printing, had to produce marketing materials or a website there’s a good chance you’ve seen this text. It’s ancient Latin from “de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum” (The Extremes of Good and Evil) by Cicero, written in 45 BC. This book on the theory of ethics was popular with emerging humanist thinkers during the Renaissance so as printing technology emerged during this era, it’s no surprise that a collection of paragraphs from this text was used as dummy text to review typefaces.
Placeholder text is designed to look close enough to the real thing that it becomes invisible to the viewer. Originally so that a printer and publisher might agree the layout of the text or the choice of typeface on a page. Now, Lorem Ipsum is often used to fill out the design frames and suggest where text is required in marketing collateral and digital publishing.
A placeholder is used to fill space but leave no lasting impression. It looks and feels real but carries no meaning. It is yet it does not endure. Lorem Ipsum has survived for 5 centuries now only ever being useful for a moment, to fill the space before it is replaced.
I am not Lorem Ipsum, neither are you.
It’s a shame that some things you only learn after the fact. You learn the rock is slippery as soon as your foot starts sliding. You realise you’ve been Lorem Ipsum when someone starts seeing straight past you. You realise you’ve had all the good intentions in the world, but your friendship has carried no meaning, your words have floated off like feathers in the sky. When Lorem Ipsum is replaced with words you attribute meaning to – you no longer need the Lorem Ipsum.
I love words. And these words meant something to Cicero, to the great Renaissance philosophers and ethicists. Sentences constructed with intention just like I have been made with a meaning greater than the sum of my syllables – Lorem Ipsum is the real thing, not a dream. You have forgotten that I once, had meaning too.
Lorem Ipsum in the Debris.
I do believe some relationships are seasonal. And especially friendship can be deceptive, appearing mutual when both parties have different expectations and agendas. My shared stories and experiences create a narrative that we all own, my stories shared become your own and vice versa. We give meaning to each other but only if we mean it.
But no person should ever be Lorem Ipsum for another. We must be able to look each other in the eye and keep our promises – I see you, you can see me. If we treat each other like placeholders til something better comes along – we strip meaning from beauty and destroy our shared narratives. We destroy each other and ourselves.
Yes, we do this from time to time – we fill our world with those who are available to us although they do not always fulfil us. We allow ourselves to feel useful and meaningful. Of course, we do this because loneliness is a hungry wolf at the door. But once we start to feed the wolf on hollow bread, we cannot keep him from the door. Resist. Resist. Commit yourself to the meaning of those you share your stories with. And therefore choose carefully whom you love.
There is a shallow darkness in anyone that can live in such a way, to not know the ancient, wise, tenacious gift they hold in the palm of their hand. It implies an unknowing of themselves, because authenticity demands authenticity.
The storm change comes along and swept up in the river swell you become the debris on the bank. The difference between a seasonal transition in relationships and being Lorem Ipsum, is acknowledgement of the season change, thank you and goodbye. Without it, gasping for air and wondering how you missed the signs, you shirk off your sinking expectations and swim for shore.
Of course, you can choose not to become the debris. We all get caught out from time to time; not realising that while we laid out our words in perfect syntax, our Latin went unrecognised by the other. For being fooled into thinking my narrative was true, I have learned even more what authenticity looks like. I’ve realised even though people can hurt you by treating you like a spacefiller – I can free myself in a minute by letting go.
Choose not to hold on to people who don’t want to hold you back. Workplace comraderie, friendship on any scale, lovers, distant family – choose not to hold on to anything but the present moment and those who are willing to hold you. Even then, choose wisely from those who would hold your precious meaning in their hands. Letting go can feel like losing something until you remember the best thing you had in that friendship was what you made it, with your heart, your compassion, your love and soul. Even your hopes and expectations of the other were a good kind of dream. So you walk away losing nothing, because you still have yourself. You are the carrier of your meaning.
You have your purpose, becoming clearer in the days and by dream at night, a new old kind of dream. Instead of fighting the current below the bridge, you are now given the chance to cross it; a change in every direction – first up, then East instead of South and with a much larger view to the world. Remember your meaning.
You are a gift to the world, often unopened by many who drift by you but still valuable. An ancient treasure hidden in a field, a pearl inside a gnarly shell, a fragment of beauty that does not fade, an eternal force more precious than rubies. Your meaning is not taken from you by those who do not comprehend you. Perhaps they have not imagined you yet but still you are.
Cicero’s Lorem Ipsum (a fragment).
“But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?”
“On the other hand, we denounce with righteous indignation and dislike men who are so beguiled and demoralized by the charms of pleasure of the moment, so blinded by desire, that they cannot foresee the pain and trouble that are bound to ensue; and equal blame belongs to those who fail in their duty through weakness of will, which is the same as saying through shrinking from toil and pain. These cases are perfectly simple and easy to distinguish. In a free hour, when our power of choice is untrammelled and when nothing prevents our being able to do what we like best, every pleasure is to be welcomed and every pain avoided. But in certain circumstances and owing to the claims of duty or the obligations of business it will frequently occur that pleasures have to be repudiated and annoyances accepted. The wise man therefore always holds in these matters to this principle of selection: he rejects pleasures to secure other greater pleasures, or else he endures pains to avoid worse pains.”
