And not just desire for some one but also desire for some thing. I’m watching as a girl I know is killing herself, literally, over a desire for something. She wants to be the best dancer so bad, everything else in her life is shrinking away, including her body. Just to make the goal of getting into a big-time dance company someday. Her desire is not making her happy. Just the opposite. It seems to make her miserable. The more successful she is at dancing, the more driven and obsessed she gets, and the more she thinks she’s fat and ugly.
I wanted to qualify to ride in the Washington International Horse Show, but I’m also afraid of not making it. Sometimes I’m so afraid that I think I’m only in love with the idea of being a good rider, but don’t have what it takes to get there. I don’t want to want something so bad and not get it. It would be easier to just not try.
Cory didn’t go back and read over what had flown out from her fingertips. She pushed the key to send the email, snapped off the light, and climbed into bed, pulling the heavy comforter up to her ears. All the anger, frustration, outrage, and fear had spilled out of her like water shooting from a hose, at first with a force under great pressure, then to a steady stream until the last drop dripped out over the metal rim.
The next morning an email message sat in her inbox, flashing, waiting impatiently. Ms. Jankowski had responded.
You quit out of fear. You change course out of self-knowledge and wisdom.
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