Talk to my soul!
Bedridden, the body weighed down by successive ordeals and pain as a mistress, we find ourselves asking for help to perform gestures that seemed like the simplest of everyday life. Having to get up to unload your body of its waste becomes a marathon act. A marathon is accommodating, but nothing prepares us for the force majeure of the disease. It is in these precise periods that seem endless that we find in ourselves the unsuspected springs of survival, then of “survival” (*) (an increased life). We don’t live, we live more, and everything is more intense: from pain to its absence felt as a moment of floating of the body to the higher dimension that existence has just taken. In these same periods, with restricted perimeters, one becomes extraordinarily creative, by finding tricks to facilitate the tasks at first and then to create in a second time. The 2 begin to pair: ingenuity feeds the feather and vice versa. We write about his pain, his uncertainties, his missed loves, his missing loves. Very quickly, we come to write what would make our life easier.
It is at this precise moment that the pen goes from observation to resistance to finally become resilience. It is during these periods that a new life will be born, the life of author, creative, blogger, and entrepreneur. We often talk about “pain points” to solve to describe an invention that will change not one, but lives. Bread for pain: pain is a source of creativity and evolution. More broadly, it is the difficulty that is a source of creativity. She’s the one who will make you feel human when she’s around. It will remind you of your mortal condition, that time is running out and that there is no more time to lose to count on getting started, to finally do what you had refused to do. Didn’t you feel capable? Didn’t you feel legitimate?
A trial will prove you wrong, and what was evil at the beginning becomes a blessing. It is always with great happiness that I welcome the difficulty of making me reborn and not letting myself sink into the existential routine, source of creative depletion, and death of the innovation that lies dormant in each of us.
Without trial, I would never have been who I am, and you?
(*) Neologism created for the occasion
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