There’s such an immense pressure we put upon ourselves in our culture to “do great things” with our lives. I think we almost always miss the point entirely. It’s an contrast between materialism and what really matters.
After an epoch of imbalanced masculine/feminine energies, we’re often confused about ideas such as power and strength, success and achievement; we see gold medals, platinum records, big houses and big bank accounts, shiny cars, boats, jets, and custom three-piece suits… As mentioned, we’re totally missing the point.
I think when we’re genuinely in the moment of doing great things, we’re unaware of it, though an observer may be awe-struck, inspired, moved or otherwise elevated for the better. Our egos need fancy things, vanity, recognition and rewards. Life celebrates when who we really are shows up.
When a child grabs your hand, does it take you back to when you were little, when you grasped for someone you’d bonded with to keep you safe, to meet you half-way in a loving space, to connect with the child inside of them?
When you listen, with all of you, when she just needs to be heard.
When you hold him, when he just needs to be vulnerable.
When you write without pause, bleeding onto the page, inching toward self-actualization, healing yourself and allowing anyone who resonates with those naked words to recognize the melody and join in the chorus.
When you bring a new life into this world.
When you discover a hidden talent, hone it, master it, and share it.
When it becomes natural to be of service.
When you look in the mirror, and finally recognize love.
These are the great things.