A lesson in humility

Today was rough. I am physically and emotionally worn out. I hope you'll forgive me for not wanting to go into a lot of detail right now. And please, don't worry that it's anything major. It is simply one of those days where being an adult really, really sucks. And as I sat down and tried to figure out what (and how much) to write, all that I could think about was how much I wanted today to end on a good note.

That's when I remembered the following poem by Edmund Vance Cooke. I came across it in high school, the year my mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and it's always stuck with me. I know it's something that I'll need to get me through tonight and the days to come. I hope maybe some part of it will stick with you too.

So, until tomorrow, may I wish you all sweet dreams, deep sleep, and a happier outlook in the morning.

How Did You Die?

Did you tackle the trouble that came your way

With a resolute heart and cheerful?

Or hid your face from the light of day

With a craven soul and fearful?

Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,

Or a trouble is what you make it, 

And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, 

But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that?

Come up with a smiling face.

It's nothing against you to fall down flat,

But to lie there--that's disgrace. 

The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;

Be proud of your blackened eye!

It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,

It's how did you fight--and why?

And though you be done to death, what then?

If you battled the best you could,

If you played your part in the world of men,

Why, the Critic will call it good.

Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,

And whether he's slow or spry, 

It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, 

But only how did you die?