Rough Road Life Quotes

I’m a modern man, a man for the millennium. Digital and smoke free. A diversified multi-cultural, post-modern deconstruction that is anatomically and ecologically incorrect. I’ve been up linked and downloaded, I’ve been inputted and outsourced, I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. I’m a high-tech low-life. A cutting edge, state-of-the-art bi-coastal multi-tasker and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond! I’m new wave, but I’m old school and my inner child is outward bound. I’m a hot-wired, heat seeking, warm-hearted cool customer, voice activated and bio-degradable. I interface with my database, my database is in cyberspace, so I’m interactive, I’m hyperactive and from time to time I’m radioactive. Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, ridin the wave, dodgin the bullet and pushin the envelope. I’m on-point, on-task, on-message and off drugs. I’ve got no need for coke and speed. I've got no urge to binge and purge. I’m in-the-moment, on-the-edge, over-the-top and under-the-radar. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom feeder. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps and run victory laps. I’m a totally ongoing big-foot, slam-dunk, rainmaker with a pro-active outreach. A raging workaholic. A working rageaholic. Out of rehab and in denial! I’ve got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant and a personal agenda. You can’t shut me up. You can’t dumb me down because I’m tireless and I’m wireless, I’m an alpha male on beta-blockers. I’m a non-believer and an over-achiever, laid-back but fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home, low-rent, high-maintenance. Super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built-to-last! I’m a hands-on, foot-loose, knee-jerk head case pretty maturely post-traumatic and I’ve got a love-child that sends me hate mail. But, I’m feeling, I’m caring, I’m healing, I’m sharing-- a supportive, bonding, nurturing primary care-giver. My output is down, but my income is up. I took a short position on the long bond and my revenue stream has its own cash-flow. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds and I watch trash sports! I’m gender specific, capital intensive, user-friendly and lactose intolerant. I like rough sex. I like tough love. I use the “F” word in my emails and the software on my hard-drive is hardcore--no soft porn. I bought a microwave at a mini-mall; I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast-food in the slow lane. I’m toll-free, bite-sized, ready-to-wear and I come in all sizes. A fully-equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically- formulated medical miracle. I’ve been pre-wash, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped, vacuum-packed and, I have an unlimited broadband capacity. I’m a rude dude, but I’m the real deal. Lean and mean! Cocked, locked and ready-to-rock. Rough, tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow, I ride with the tide. I’ve got glide in my stride. Drivin and movin, sailin and spinin, jiving and groovin, wailin and winnin. I don’t snooze, so I don’t lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty and lunch time is crunch time. I’m hangin in, there ain’t no doubt and I’m hangin tough, over and out!

The scenes in our life resemble pictures in a rough mosaic; they are ineffective from close up, and have to be viewed from a distance if they are to seem beautiful. That is why to attain something desired is to discover how vain it is; and why, though we live all our lives in expectation of better things, we often at the same time long regretfully for what is past. The present, on the other hand, is regarded as something quite temporary and serving as the only road to our goal. That is why most men discover when they look back on their life that they have been living the whole time ad interim, and are surprised to see that which they let go by so unregarded and unenjoyed was precisely their life, was precisely that in expectation of which they lived.

Don’t ever forget you are beautiful, although your life, your past and your present situation may be ugly. You are beautiful.

There is a truth in Schopenhauer’s view that philosophy is an organism, and that a book on philosophy, with a beginning and end, is a sort of contradiction. ... In philosophy matters are not simple enough for us to say ‘Let’s get a rough idea’, for we do not know the country except by knowing the connections between the roads.

But I weren't no quitter No wolf nor bear just gives up when they get beat or hungry. You ever seen a bear jump off a cliff 'cause life handed him a few rough draws? No, you haven't. The wild keeps going till it don't have strength in its muscles and bones. The wild doesn't give up; it's forever, and so was I.

You see, every piece of the puzzle is required to complete the scene, while some have rough edges and some smooth, they all have value. Being grateful for each piece is not always easy, but it is necessary.

The heart itself is but a small vessel, yet there also are dragons and there are lions; there are poisonous beasts and all the treasures of evil. And there are rough and uneven roads; there are precipices. But there is also God, also the angels, the life and the kingdom, the light and the Apostles, the treasures of grace---there are all things.

Let me but live my life from year to year, With forward face and unreluctant soul, Not hastening to, nor turning from the goal; Nor mourning things that disappear In the dim past, nor holding back in fear From what the future veils; but with a whole And happy heart, that pays its toll To youth and age, and travels on with cheer. So let the way wind up the hill or down, Through rough or smooth, the journey will be joy, Still seeking what I sought when but a boy -- New friendship, high adventure, and a crown, I shall grow old, but never lose life's zest, Because the road's last turn will be the best.

You ever seen a bear jump off a cliff ’cause life handed him a few rough draws? No, you haven’t. The wild keeps going till it don’t have strength in its muscles and bones. The wild don’t give up; it’s forever, and so was I. I

It may be the first day of your life, the prime of youth or several decades in, when Medicine Woman calls you. Your name on her list. Her new initiate. She crept in whilst you were sleeping, when you over-exerted, when you kissed him, or ate that, or lived there or pushed too hard just one time too many. She crept in and curled up in your cells, your heart, waiting to meet you. Longing to know you. Longing for you to know her, at last. And what feels like the end is in fact a beginning, of a new road, an unknown path of pain and healing. She will show you how to slow down, she will run her fingers roughly through your life and help you sort the busyness from what matters, she will show you how to find support… and who you really are, beyond your roles and expectations… and even more beyond the System the world has forced you into. She transports you into the timelessness of big pains and tiny joys. Initiates you into your strength. Into your love. Into your courage. Into a world beyond your control. She has sent me an invitation. I see yours too, tucked in your bag, amongst all the receipts and bills, the pens and detritus of life. Take it out. It is time.

Kids need guidance, for sure. I did, and I’m glad I got guided because it helped me miss making a lot of mistakes. But I think parents aren’t teachers anymore. Parents — or a whole lot of us, at least — lead by mouth instead of by example. It seems to me that if a child’s hero is their mother or father — or even better, both of them in tandem — then the rough road of learning and experience is going to be smoothed some. And every little bit of smoothing helps, in this rough old world that wants children to be miniature adults, devoid of charm and magic and the beauty of innocence.

It is better to travel on the rough right road than smooth wrong way.

It is a rough road that leads to the heights of greatness. — Seneca

I know I had a rough road and part of my purpose is to guide my girls and others to help them avoid the mistakes I made.

Life has no smooth road for any of us; and in the bracing intent of a high aim the very roughness encourages the climber to firmer steps, till the legend, over steep ways to the stars, fulfills itself.

That was true, Iris would sometimes think, about marriage: it was only a boat, too. A wooden boat, difficult to build, even more difficult to maintain, whose beauty derived at least in part from its unlikelihood. Long ago the pragmatic justifications for both marriage and wooden-boat building had been lost or superseded. Why invest countless hours, years, and dollars in planing and carving, gluing and fastening, caulking and fairing, when a fiberglass boat can be had at a fraction of the cost? Why struggle to maintain love and commitment over decades when there were far easier ways to live, ones that required no effort or attention to prevent corrosion and rot? Why continue to pour your heart into these obsolete arts? Because their beauty, the way they connect you to your history and to the living world, justifies your efforts. A long marriage, like a classic wooden boat, could be a thing of grace, but only if great effort was devoted to its maintenance. At first your notions of your life with another were no more substantial than a pattern laid down in plywood. Then year by year you constructed the frame around the form, and began layering memories, griefs, and small triumphs like strips of veneer planking bent around the hull of everyday routine. You sanded down the rough edges, patched the misunderstandings, faired the petty betrayals. Sometimes you sprung a leak. You fell apart in rough weather or were smashed on devouring rocks. But then, as now, in the teeth of a storm, when it seemed like all was lost, the timber swelled, the leak sealed up, and you found that your craft was, after all, sea-kindly.

Go be a sister, I say to her in my mind. Take her for ice cream dates, just the two of you. Bicker over what your parents let one of you do that the other can’t. Sit with her after a fight a fight with a friend or a rough day at school. Hold hands in the waiting room when one of your parents is in surgery. Savor the moments where you get lost in something together – a project, a game, making pancakes, a road trip. Go be a sister.

You are stronger than you think. I have weathered many storms, tragedies, and heartaches in my life–and here I am still standing. Here you are still standing. Joy is right around the corner you just have to change your focus and look for it. And that can be rough. Rough roads can be unbearable, but you can walk them. Sometimes when you come to the end of yourself–give yourself a chance to dig in deeper. Look for the good, and you’ll find strength you never knew you had.

Jesus of Nazareth is so entirely one of them they can hardly find anything special about him at all. He fits right in with the messy busyness of everyday life. And it is here, in their midst, with their routines of fish and wine and bread, that he proclaims the kingdom of heaven. The gospel, Jesus teaches, is in the yeast, as a woman kneads it with her bare hands into the cool, pungent dough. It is in the soil, so warm and moist when freshly turned by muscular arms and backs. It is in the tiny seeds of mustard and wheat, painstakingly saved and dried from last season's harvest... Jesus placed the gospel in these tactile things, with all the grit of life surrounding him, because it is through all this touching, tasting, and smelling that his own sheep- his beloved, hardworking, human flock- know. And it is through these most mundane, touchable, smellable, tasteable pieces of commonplace existence that he shows them, and us, to find God and know him. Jesus delivered the good news in a rough, messy, hands-on package of donkeys and dusty roads, bleeding women and lepers, water from the well, and wine from the water. Holy work in the world has always been like this: messy, earthy, physical, touchable.

People try to get away from it all—to the country, to the beach, to the mountains. You always wish that you could too. Which is idiotic: you can get away from it anytime you like. By going within. Nowhere you can go is more peaceful—more free of interruptions—than your own soul. Especially if you have other things to rely on. An instant’s recollection and there it is: complete tranquillity. And by tranquillity I mean a kind of harmony. So keep getting away from it all—like that. Renew yourself. But keep it brief and basic. A quick visit should be enough to ward off all < . . . > and send you back ready to face what awaits you. What’s there to complain about? People’s misbehavior? But take into consideration: • that rational beings exist for one another; • that doing what’s right sometimes requires patience; • that no one does the wrong thing deliberately; • and the number of people who have feuded and envied and hated and fought and died and been buried. . . . and keep your mouth shut. Or are you complaining about the things the world assigns you? But consider the two options: Providence or atoms. And all the arguments for seeing the world as a city. Or is it your body? Keep in mind that when the mind detaches itself and realizes its own nature, it no longer has anything to do with ordinary life—the rough and the smooth, either one. And remember all you’ve been taught—and accepted—about pain and pleasure. Or is it your reputation that’s bothering you? But look at how soon we’re all forgotten. The abyss of endless time that swallows it all. The emptiness of all those applauding hands. The people who praise us—how capricious they are, how arbitrary. And the tiny region in which it all takes place. The whole earth a point in space—and most of it uninhabited. How many people there will be to admire you, and who they are. So keep this refuge in mind: the back roads of your self. Above all, no strain and no stress. Be straightforward. Look at things like a man, like a human being, like a citizen, like a mortal. And among the things you turn to, these two: i. That things have no hold on the soul. They stand there unmoving, outside it. Disturbance comes only from within—from our own perceptions. ii. That everything you see will soon alter and cease to exist. Think of how many changes you’ve already seen. “The world is nothing but change. Our life is only perception.

Life has its share of joys and laughter—but we also know life’s road is often very rough. Temptations assail us; people disappoint us; illness and age weaken us; tragedies and sorrows ambush us; evil and injustice overpower us. Life is hard—but God is good, and heaven is real!

The end of friendship is a commerce the most strict and homely that can be joined; more strict than any of which we have experience. It is for aid and comfort through all the relations and passages of life and death. It is fit for serene days, and graceful gifts, and country rambles, but also for rough roads and hard fare, shipwreck, poverty, and persecution. It keeps company with the sallies of the wit and the trances of religion. We are to dignify to each other the daily needs and offices of man's life, and embellish it by courage, wisdom and unity.

The more south we were, the more deep a sky it seemed, till, in the Valley of Mexico, I thought it held back an element too strong for life, and that the flamy brilliance of blue stood off this menace and sometimes, like a sheath or silk membrane, shoed the weight it held in sags. So when later he would fly high over the old craters on the plain, coaly bubbles of the underworld, dangerous red everywhere from the sun, and then coats of snow on the peak of the cones—gliding like a Satan—well, it was here the old priests, before the Spaniards, waited for Aldebaran to come into the middle of heaven to tell them whether or not life would go on for another cycle, and when they received their astronomical sign built their new fire inside the split and emptied chest of a human sacrifice. And also, hereabouts, worshipers disguised as gods and as gods in the disguise of birds, jumped from platforms fixed on long poles, and glided as they spun by the ropes—feathered serpents, and eagles too, the voladores, or fliers. There still are such plummeters, in market places, as there seem to be remnants or conversions or equivalents of all the old things. Instead of racks or pyramids of skulls still in their hair and raining down scraps of flesh there are corpses of dogs, rats, horses, asses, by the roads; the bones dug out of the rented graves are thrown on a pile when the lease is up; and there are the coffins looking like such a rough joke on the female form, sold in the open shops, black, white, gray, and in all sizes, with their heavy death fringes daubed in Sapolio silver on the black. Beggars in dog voices on the church steps enact the last feebleness for you with ancient Church Spanish, and show their old flails of stump and their sores. The burden carriers with the long lines, hemp lines they wind over their foreheads to hold the loads on their backs, lie in the garbage at siesta and give themselves the same exhibited neglect the dead are shown. Which is all to emphasize how openly death is received everywhere, in the beauty of the place, and how it is acknowledged that anyone may be roughly handled—the proudest—pinched, slapped, and set down, thrown down; for death throws even worse in men’s faces and makes it horrible and absurd that one never touched should be roughly dumped under, dumped upon.

The road of life can be tough at times. when the road gets bumpy and rough you must buckle up and go for the ride. Every road in life is a teacher if you are willing to learn from it. In order to grow and prosper you must take the ride, just buckle up put on your sunglasses and enjoy the ride.

Were she a man, now, she would receive rough treatment, or indifference at the best, and be requested to ride at once perhaps to Bodmin or to Launceston to bear witness, with an understanding that she should find her own lodging and betake herself to the world’s end if she wished when all questions had been asked. And she would depart, when they had finished with her, and go on a ship somewhere, working her passage before the mast; or tramp the road with one silver penny in her pocket and her heart and soul at liberty. Here she was, with tears ready to the surface and an aching head, being hurried from the scene of action with smooth words and gestures, a nuisance and a factor of delay, like every woman and every child after tragedy.

A morning-flowered dalliance demured and dulcet-sweet with ebullience and efflorescence admiring, cozy cottages and elixirs of eloquence lie waiting at our feet - We'll dance through fetching pleasantries as we walk ephemeral roads evocative epiphanies ethereal, though we know our hearts are linked with gossamer halcyon our day a harbinger of pretty things infused with whispers longing still and gamboling in sultry ways to feelings, all ineffable screaming with insouciance masking labyrinthine paths where, in our nonchalance, we walk through the lilt of love’s new morning rays. Mellifluous murmurings from a babbling brook that soothes our heated passion-songs and panoplies perplexed with thought of shadows carried off with clouds in stormy summer rains… My dear, and that I can call you 'dear' after ripples turned to crashing waves after pyrrhic wins, emotions drained we find our palace sunned and rayed with quintessential moments lit with wildflower lanterns arrayed on verandahs lush with mutual love, the softest love – our preferred décor of life's lilly-blossom gate in white-fenced serendipity… Twilight sunlit heavens cross our gardens, graced with perseverance, bliss, and thee, and thou, so splendid, delicate as a morning dove of charm and mirth – at least with me; our misty mornings glide through air... So with whippoorwill’d sweet poetry - of moonstones, triumphs, wonder-woven in chandliers of winglet cherubs wrought with time immemorial, crafted with innocence, stowed away and brought to light upon our day in hallelujah tapestries of ocean-windswept galleries in breaths of ballet kisses, light, skipping to the breakfast room cascading chrysalis's love in diaphanous imaginings delightful, fleeting, celestial-viewed as in our eyes which come to rest evocative, exuberant on one another’s moon-stowed dreams idyllic, in quiescent ways, peaceful in their radiance resplendent with a myriad of thought soothing muse, rhapsodic song until the somnolence of night spreads out again its shaded truss of luminescent fantasies waiting to be loved by us… Oh, love! Your sincerest pardons begged! I’ve gone too long, I’ve rambled, dear, and on and on and on and on - as if our hours were endless here… A morning toast, with orange-juiced lips exalting transcendent minds suffused with sunrise symphonies organic-born tranquilities sublimed sonorous assemblages with scintillas of eternity beating at our breasts – their embraces but a blushing, longing glance away… I’ll end my charms this enraptured morn' before cacophony and chafe coarse in crude and rough abrade when cynical distrust is laid by hoarse and leeching parasites, distaste fraught with smug disgust by hairy, smelly maladroit mediocrities born of poisoned wells grotesque with selfish lies - shrill and shrieking, biting, creeping around our love, as if they rose from Edgar Allen’s own immortal rumpled decomposing clothes… Oh me, oh my! I am so sorry! can you forgive me? I gone and kissed you for so long, in my morning imaginings, through these words, through this song - ‘twas supposed to be "a trifle treat," but little treats do sometimes last a little longer; and, oh, but oh, but if I could, I surly would keep you just a little longer tarrying here, tarrying here with me this pleasant morn

OK, but what do I do about the debt I have? While the mantra here is “avoid debt at all costs,” if you already have it, it is worth considering if paying it off ahead of schedule is the best use of your capital. In today’s environment, here’s my rough guideline: If your interest rate is... Less than 3%, pay it off slowly and route the money to your investments instead. Between 3-5%, do whatever feels most comfortable: Either put the money to debt payment or investments. More than 5%, pay it off ASAP. But this is just looking at the numbers. There is a lot to be said for focusing on just getting it out of your life and moving on. Especially if keeping your debt under control has been a problem for you.

Dog Talk … I have seen Ben place his nose meticulously into the shallow dampness of a deer’s hoofprint and shut his eyes as if listening. But it is smell he is listening to. The wild, high music of smell, that we know so little about. Tonight Ben charges up the yard; Bear follows. They run into the field and are gone. A soft wind, like a belt of silk, wraps the house. I follow them to the end of the field where I hear the long-eared owl, at wood’s edge, in one of the tall pines. All night the owl will sit there inventing his catty racket, except when he opens pale wings and drifts moth-like over the grass. I have seen both dogs look up as the bird floats by, and I suppose the field mouse hears it too, in the pebble of his tiny heart. Though I hear nothing. Bear is small and white with a curly tail. He was meant to be idle and pretty but learned instead to love the world, and to romp roughly with the big dogs. The brotherliness of the two, Ben and Bear, increases with each year. They have their separate habits, their own favorite sleeping places, for example, yet each worries without letup if the other is missing. They both bark rapturously and in support of each other. They both sneeze to express plea- sure, and yawn in humorous admittance of embarrassment. In the car, when we are getting close to home and the smell of the ocean begins to surround them, they both sit bolt upright and hum. With what vigor and intention to please himself the little white dog flings himself into every puddle on the muddy road. Somethings are unchangeably wild, others are stolid tame. The tiger is wild, the coyote, and the owl. I am tame, you are tame. The wild things that have been altered, but only into a semblance of tameness, it is no real change. But the dog lives in both worlds. Ben is devoted, he hates the door between us, is afraid of separation. But he had, for a number of years, a dog friend to whom he was also loyal. Every day they and a few others gathered into a noisy gang, and some of their games were bloody. Dog is docile, and then forgets. Dog promises then forgets. Voices call him. Wolf faces appear in dreams. He finds himself running over incredible lush or barren stretches of land, nothing any of us has ever seen. Deep in the dream, his paws twitch, his lip lifts. The dreaming dog leaps through the underbrush, enters the earth through a narrow tunnel, and is home. The dog wakes and the disturbance in his eyes when you say his name is a recognizable cloud. How glad he is to see you, and he sneezes a little to tell you so. But ah! the falling-back, fading dream where he was almost there again, in the pure, rocky weather-ruled beginning. Where he was almost wild again, and knew nothing else but that life, no other possibility. A world of trees and dogs and the white moon, the nest, the breast, the heart-warming milk! The thick-mantled ferocity at the end of the tunnel, known as father, a warrior he himself would grow to be. …

During those early days, I could merely circle around it, tracing its contours as I tried to familiarize myself with its heft. I learned that just as a map of the world only contains rough outlines of countries—their borders and major cities, as well as the rivers and oceans that dissect and separate them—so too would the cartography of my loss at first be laid out as a broad, abstract concept for me to come to terms with. Only after I had learned those boundaries and generalities of my grief was I able to venture further into the mountains and valleys, the peaks and troughs of my despair. And as I traversed them—breathing a sigh of relief thinking that I’d conquered the worst of it—only then would I finally arrive at the truth about loss, the part that no one ever warns you about: that grief is a city all of its own, built high on a hill and surrounded by stone walls. It is a fortress that you will inhabit for the rest of your life, walking its dead-end roads forever. The trick is to stop trying to escape and, instead, to make yourself at home.

Do you ever feel like you are giving far fewer fucks and yet still caring so much it sometimes feels like there is only the most tissue-thin layer separating your soul from this world? Like your heart may be broken but your spirit is still rising? Are you refusing to conform and somehow still fitting just right? Able to look people right in the eye without apology and also like you’re a teenager again, bashful and blushing and off-kilter, like that moment when lips unexpectedly pressed against your head and face buried in your hair fingers trailed down y our arm, the way your stomach can flip-flop like that, even now. Do you ever walk on purpose even when you have nowhere to go? Do you notice things deeply, like dark red lipstick prints on pristine white coffee mugs? Like the way whiskey burns and cool white sheets feel against your skin at the end of the day? Are you claiming your identity, clear and strong and true, and also sinking into the vast unknowable mystery of your all? Do your days feel like longing and acquiescence and learning to stop grasping at things that are ready to leave or that choose not to come closer? Are you making a home of your own skin and inviting the world inside? Are you learning that cultivating solid boundaries and driving into a wide open horizon both feel like freedom, like the harsh desert mountains and the soft ocean wisdom and the road to healing that joins the two? Does it all feels like solidity, like truth, like forgiveness and recklessness and heat and sexy and holy, all rolled up together? Do you crave the burn of heat from another and the for nothing to be louder than sound of your own heartbeat, all at once? Do you finally know that you can choose a love and a life that does not break you? That you can claim a softer beauty and a kinder want. That even your animal hunger can soften its rough edges and say a full-throated yes to what is good and kind and holy. Do you remember that insanity is not a prerequisite for passion and that there is another pathway to your art, one that does not demand your pain as payment for its own becoming? Are you learning to show up? To take up space? To feel the power? Is it full of contradiction, does it feel like fire underwater, are you rising to sing?

Church bells ringing on our wedding day Climbed in that limo and rode away Guess you'll always hear some people say, Man, they're never gonna make it. We settled in and we settled down In this quiet little seaside town You are the rock I built my world around And life will never break it We are one heartbeat in the darkness We are one lasting answered prayer We are one unbroken promise And we are two, true believers It wasn't easy getting here today Sometimes you stumbled or I lost my way But every roadblock was a chance to say; Take my hand I'm here beside you. We worked and made it through the toughest parts Now every day is another chance to start To look around and see where we are It's where we were trying to get to We are one heartbeat in the darkness We are one lasting answered prayer We are one unbroken promise And we are two, true believers We are one before our God in Heaven Oh, we are one road when the going gets rough We are one now and forever We are one name, one life, one flame We are one heartbeat in the darkness We are one lasting answered prayer We are one unbroken promise And we are two, true believers We are two, true believers

Missy I was sixteen and Jason (known on TV as Jase) was eighteen when we started dating. One of my friends--we’ll call her Christy--was actually interested in him, and the two of them had started seeing each other. Jase did not know Christy was already dating someone else and had been for quite some time. He found this out at her house one Sunday afternoon when she ran down the stairs telling him he had to leave immediately. About that time, he heard the screeching of tires from the front of her house. Her boyfriend had arrived. The boyfriend (we’ll call him Greg) was obviously not happy with the current arrangement and was there to set things straight with Jason. He told Jason eh wanted to talk inside his truck. Jase ended up getting into Greg’s vehicle, which he quickly regretted, and Greg proceeded to drive to an undisclosed location to fight it out. Quickly, Jase realized the situation and told Greg that if all of this was over Christy, he could have her. She was not worth it to him. Since Greg did not seem to respond to this direction in the conversation, Jase switched gears and started preaching to him. He proceeded to tell Greg that Jesus died for him and for all the rotten things he had done in his life. He told him God would forgive him if he would turn his life over to Jesus, be baptized for his sins, and start living a life that reflected Jesus’ love for him. Since Greg did not seem to respond to this dialogue either, Jase told him simply, “Just don’t hit me in the face.” Greg stopped the truck, dragged Jase out, roughed him up a bit, and left him at the end of a dead-end road. Jason never threw one punch. Obviously, the relationship between Jason and Christy was officially over.

So here’s the million-dollar question: To what degree does menopause also deliver a customized update to your brain’s operating system? It is plausible that as the brain approaches menopause, it gets another chance to go leaner and meaner, discarding information and skills it no longer needs while growing new ones. For starters, some of the brain-ovary connections necessary to make babies are no longer needed, so arrivederci to that. But also all the neurologically expensive skills we reviewed in the last chapter—decoding baby talk, subduing temper tantrums, and high-level multitasking—are not as relevant once your birdie has flown the coop. They are still helpful, but not urgent. It only makes sense, then, that the brain would eventually start pruning away those expired connections—and what better biological clue to do so than menopause. Again, many believe that, as this latest and greatest brain update unfolds, that’s when hot flashes, brain fog, and other bothersome symptoms kick in. Once the update is complete, the symptoms start dissipating (which may take longer than the other two P’s because now we are . . . well, older). All this information is helpful to place menopause under a much broader lens. But where are the bonuses? Could it be that the menopausal brain morph might better equip us for our later years? Could menopause come with its own ingenuity, proving instrumental in preparing women for a new role in life as in society? Despite society having turned a blind eye toward any menopausal perks, there is increasing evidence that this profound hormonal event also bestows new meaning and purpose on women. HAPPINESS IS NOT A MYTH AFTER ALL Any major life transition can be a chance at reawakening, even if the road is rough.

Taken as a whole, the history of the Middle Ages after the ruin in the West of the ancient civilization is one of progress, progress in society, government, order and organization, laws, the development of human faculties, of rational thought, of knowledge and experience, of art and culture. Men throughout had been restlessly creative and aspiring. But that progress to a better life had been perpetually thwarted and delayed, not merely by external disasters but by the passions and wilful ambitions of men themselves. They generated countless ills. Rough and ready, even skilful and inspired remedies brought with their benefits fresh misfortunes on mankind. Innate barbarism broken from its fetters time and time again. Potent delusions summoned their appropriate nemesis. In our distant retrospect we can perceive how crooked and perilous was the upward road.

center, there’s probably going to be . . .” He trailed off, pointing dramatically through a gap in the trees. “A temple.” Sure enough, another mound rose in the distance. This one was significantly taller than the others around us. It was bedecked with trees and plants, but was obviously a stepped pyramid. “So what’s the plan, exactly?” Murray asked blankly. “We go to the temple and pray that someone rescues us?” Zoe swatted Murray on the back of the head. “No, you idiot. We climb the temple and see how close we are to civilization. Plus, maybe we can spot Erica from up there.” “Oh!” Murray said. “Good thinking.” The ancient road led directly to the pyramid. Lots of trees and brush had grown on the road over the past few centuries, but it was still easy to follow. Now that we’d had plenty of water to drink and were warm again, we were in good shape. Except for my wet shoes squelching on my feet and my wet underwear riding up my butt, I felt better than I had in hours. We reached the base of the pyramid and worked our way up the stepped exterior. Like the other buildings, it was constructed of rough-hewn limestone held together with mortar and covered with centuries of dirt and plant life. There were also dozens of iguanas basking in the sun on it. Everywhere I looked, there was an iguana, many of them the size of lapdogs. It was like a display case for an iguana store. They watched us warily as we climbed past them, but didn’t seem too threatened by us, as they rarely bothered to move out of our way. The pyramid angled up sharply. Murray, being in the best shape, made his way up it the fastest, though the rest of us weren’t far behind. The heat and the humidity, originally so refreshing after our time underground, quickly grew oppressive. I had to stop halfway up the pyramid to catch my breath, taking care not to sit on any iguanas. Zoe

He made up his mind to see Kate, and with this view he went down to Westmoreland; and took himself to a small wayside inn at Shap among the fells, which had been known to him of old. He gave his sister notice that he would be there, and begged her to come over to him as early as she might find it possible on the’ morning after his arrival. He himself reached the place late in the evening by train from London. There is a station at Shap, by which the railway company no doubt conceives that it has conferred on that somewhat rough and remote locality all the advantages of a refined civilization; but I doubt whether the Shappites have been thankful for the favour. The landlord at the inn, for one, is not thankful. Shap had been a place owing all such life as it had possessed to coaching and posting. It had been a stage on the high road from Lancaster to Carlisle, and though it lay high and bleak among the fells, and was a cold, windy, thinly-populated place, – filling all travellers with thankfulness that they had not been made Shappites, nevertheless, it had had its glory in its coaching and posting. I have no doubt that there are men and women who look back with a fond regret to the palmy days of Shap.

The road to success is never that smooth. There are obvious portholes you would step in. There are hills you must cross, and you will. Thus, no matter how rough your journey might be, keep up hopes in God so you will not falter. No matter how dark the days might seem, don’t forget to smile, and always have it at the back of your mind that there is light at the end of the tunnel.” It takes a broad smile to make a dark day seem so bright. Psalm 119:105 -Shenita Etwaroo

The Napoli was a rangy, powerful craft with graceful lines and was the pride of Tony’s life. The boat moved slowly out into the waters of Barmet Bay and then gathered speed as it headed toward the ocean. “Rough water,” Frank remarked as breaking swells hit the hull. Salt spray dashed over the bow of the Napoli as it plunged on through the white-caps. Bayport soon became a speck nestled at the curve of the horseshoe-shaped body of water. Reaching the ocean, Tony turned north. The boys could see the white line of the shore road rising and falling along the coast. Soon they passed the Kane farm. Two miles farther on they came within sight of the cliff upon which the Pollitt house stood. It looked stark and forbidding above the rocks, its roof and chimneys silhouetted against the sky.

Soldier of Christ, if thou enlisteth, thou wilt have to do hard battle. There is no bed of down for thee; there is no riding to heaven in a chariot; the rough way must be trodden; mountains must be climbed, rivers must be forded, dragons must be fought, giants must be slain, difficulties must be overcome, and great trials must be borne. It is not a smooth road to heaven, believe me; for those who have gone but a very few steps therein have found it to be a rough one. It is a pleasant one; it is the most delightful in all the world, but it is not easy in itself; it is only pleasant because of the company, because of the sweet promises on which we lean, because of our Beloved who walks with us through all the rough and thorny brakes of this vast wilderness.

When the road to your address in life is tough, you will need to roughly persist until you reach your destination.

What do your kids really need? What must a parent do? What’s essential? What’s optional? There’s no easy answer, but in 2008 President Barack Obama came close to articulating one in a Father’s Day speech about what our kids really need and want from us. Our kids are pretty smart. They understand that life won’t always be perfect, that sometimes the road gets rough, that even great parents don’t get everything right. But more than anything, they just want us to be a part of their lives. . . . In the end, that’s what being a parent is all about—those precious moments with our children that fill us with pride and excitement for their future; the chances we have to set an example or offer a piece of advice; the opportunities to just be there and show them that we love them. That’s your job, above all others. To be a part of their life—a positive part. They need you to be there. To give advice. To be a good example. To understand them and to love them. Everything else is extra.

We Will Survive October 16, 2024 at 10:35 AM Verse 1 When the world feels heavy, and the night seems long We gather strength, we find our song Through stormy weather and the darkest nights We hold on tight, and we fight the fight Chorus We will survive tough times, we’ll rise above the pain With hearts so strong, we’ll face the rain Hand in hand, through every climb We will survive, we will survive tough times Verse 2 When the road gets rough, and we’re feeling low With hope in our hearts, together we’ll go Through trials and tears, we’ll stand tall In the face of it all, we’ll never fall Chorus We will survive tough times, we’ll rise above the pain With hearts so strong, we’ll face the rain Hand in hand, through every climb We will survive, we will survive tough times Bridge Through the fire and the flames, we find our light In the darkest hour, we hold on tight With every step, every tear we shed We build a future, we look ahead Verse 3 In unity we find our way With love and courage, we’ll seize the day Through the ups and downs, we’ll persevere With every breath, we’ll conquer fear Chorus We will survive tough times, we’ll rise above the pain With hearts so strong, we’ll face the rain Hand in hand, through every climb We will survive, we will survive tough times Outro So here’s to us, through thick and thin With every struggle, we begin again Together strong, through life’s tough rhymes We will survive, we will survive tough times

Life is a journey. And the road is bumpy. But if you’re willing to go through the rough spots, you can come out okay on the other side.

Go gently through this day, keeping your eyes on Me. I will open up the way before you, as you take steps of trust along your path. Sometimes the way before you appears to be blocked. If you focus on the obstacle or search for a way around it, you will probably go off course. Instead, focus on Me, the Shepherd who is leading you along your life-journey. Before you know it, the “obstacle” will be behind you and you will hardly know how you passed through it. That is the secret of success in My kingdom. Although you remain aware of the visible world around you, your primary awareness is of Me. When the road before you looks rocky, you can trust Me to get you through that rough patch. My Presence enables you to face each day with confidence. JOHN 10:14–15; ISAIAH 26:7

For half an hour, the mood was lightened and the problems Lucas was causing the family were forgotten. For that blissful half an hour, everyone got on and everyone was distracted from the pain and reality of ordinary life.

So squeeze together a love of motorcycles, a little edginess and risk taking, a craving for the freedom of the open road, a touch of the loner, a rough sense of humor, some physical and mental toughness along with some multi-faceted motorcycle pride and you have a biker. The more time that biker spends with his machine on the road, the deeper that biker chord runs.

MARCH 31 I WILL MAKE THE CROOKED STRAIGHT AND THE DARKNESS LIGHT MY CHILD, I have taken hold of your hand and will guide you. Hold firmly to My Word, for it is the message that gives life. Encourage My people and give them comfort. I selected and sent you to bring light and My promise of hope to the nations. You will give sight to the blind; you will set prisoners free from dark dungeons. I will lead the blind on roads they have never known; I will guide them on paths they have never traveled. Their road is dark and rough, but I will give light to keep them from stumbling. PSALM 43:3–4; ISAIAH 40:1–4; 42:16–17 Prayer Declaration Lead me, and make Your way straight before my eyes. Make darkness light before me and crooked things straight. Teach me to light the way for the blind and to bring hope to the nations. Give me the treasure of darkness and Your riches, which are stored in secret places. Strengthen me so that men may know there is none beside You. You came to reveal the true light that gives light to every man who comes into the world.

Those who live by God's law will walk through the rough roads of life shielded by God's love and faithfulness. Psalm 25:10.

**Verse 1:** In the shadow of the mountain, under the big blue sky, Times are tough, the road is rough, and the well's run dry. The fields are barren, the cattle are thin, Hard times have come knocking, wearing a wicked grin. **Chorus:** But I'll keep on fighting through the storm and the strife, Hard times may bend me, but they won't take my life. With grit and with grace, I'll stand my ground, 'Cause hard times can't keep a good heart down. **Verse 2:** The factory's closed, the jobs are gone, Folks are feeling forgotten, but we've got to carry on. The bank's calling, the bills are due, But I've got faith, and I'll see it through. **Chorus:** But I'll keep on fighting through the storm and the strife, Hard times may bend me, but they won't take my life. With grit and with grace, I'll stand my ground, 'Cause hard times can't keep a good heart down. **Bridge:** When the night feels endless, and hope seems lost, I look to the stars, no matter the cost. The dawn is coming, it's just out of sight, I'll hold on till morning, through the darkest night. **Chorus:** But I'll keep on fighting through the storm and the strife, Hard times may bend me, but they won't take my life. With grit and with grace, I'll stand my ground, 'Cause hard times can't keep a good heart down. **Outro:** So here's to the fighters, the dreamers, the brave, To those who find strength, even when they're afraid. We'll weather these hard times, we won't back down, Together we'll rise, 'cause we're homeward bound.

Beyond the Judging Eyes” Down a dusty road where the judgments fly, Where the gossips whisper and the rumors pry, If you're lean as a rail, they'll say you're chasing a high, If you're round as a barrel, they'll tell you to diet, oh my. But I'm sick of the box, sick of the fake, We're all just folks, make no mistake. Let's sing it loud, under the wide-open sky, We're all kin in this rodeo of life, Mending fences, not just tearing 'em down, In this country song, we all wear the crown. Dress up like a star, they'll say you're too proud, Wear your workin' boots, they claim you've fallen out, Speak your heart, they'll call you a loudmouth, Keep it to yourself, you're aloof, no doubt. But I'm done with the noise, done with the scorn, We're all diamonds, rough or adorned. Let's sing it loud, under the wide-open sky, We're all kin in this rodeo of life, Mending fences, not just tearing 'em down, In this country song, we all wear the crown. Whether you're the toast of the town hall dance, Or love the quiet of a wide-open expanse, We're each a verse in life's grand old song, In the chorus together, where we all belong. Let's sing it loud, under the wide-open sky, We're all kin in this rodeo of life, Mending fences, not just tearing 'em down, In this country song, we all wear the crown. We're side by side, through the highs and the lows, Lifting each other, that's how it goes, Forget the critics, their talk's just strife, We're the best we can be, in this country life.

In 2008 an official website commemorating Sharon’s life and achievements was established, in which, rather than hiding his role in Gaza in those days, it proudly lauded it: Sharon participates in these searches himself. He orders the soldiers to perform a full body search on all males and sometimes imposes curfews on refugee camps in order to conduct a search. The clear goal of the mission is finding terrorists and killing them. The soldiers have orders not to try and capture the terrorists alive. Sharon instructs them to be rough with the local population, to perform searches in the streets and even to strip suspects naked if necessary; to shoot to kill any Arab who holds a gun; to shoot to kill any Arab who does not obey a Stop! call; and to diminish the risk to their lives by employing a big volume of fire, by uprooting trees from orchards which makes it difficult to capture terrorists, by demolishing houses and driving out their owners to other houses in order to pave secure roads. Haider Abd al-Shafi, Senior Palestinian leader, says: ‘Sharon took a decision to open roads in Al Shateya camp and in Rafah for security. That led to removing houses, the houses of refugees, which is an action not to be taken lightly, but there was no objection neither from Dayan nor from the Israeli government. They let Sharon realize his aim and he really destroyed a lot of refugees’ houses.’ Eli Landau, political ally and a friend of Ariel Sharon, says: ‘He was a very senior officer going with the troops from house to house, from bunker to bunker, from orange grove to orange grove, to explain what he meant. Three months later, Gaza was quiet. The terror was crushed with an iron fist, with a vicious hand. He cast fear in Gaza, he was feared.’9 The manner and detail of the retaliation were based on British military counter-insurgency methods employed against the Palestinians during the Arab revolt in the 1930s; it seems that the new rulers of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip were highly impressed by this ruthless methodology. In the case of the British this pattern of inhumanity was in place for three years; in the case of the Palestinians it has lasted for more than fifty years.

[Verse] I got the blues settin' in Life dealt a hand real tough But I'll face the day my friend Even when it feels real rough [Verse 2] Storm and strife all around Hard times knockin' at my door But they won't steal my ground I'll fight them More and more [Chorus] It's okay Not to be okay To feel lost in the light I'll find my way someday Through the dark of the night [Verse 3] Resilience is my chosen path Challenges I won't lose Even when they bring the wrath I bend I don't break I choose [Bridge] Though the road feels long And the night feels cold I know where I belong With a heart that's bold [Verse 4] Standin' tall through the pain When life turns out to be cruel I dance in the rain Bend Not break That's my rule

I found certain persuasive factors. A sedentary job, because his musculature was slack, his posture poor, flabby buttocks. Slightly rough hands, a fair bit of old diesel fuel ingrained in the skin. Also traces of old diesel fuel on the soles of his shoes. Internally, a poor diet, high in fat, plus a bit too much hydrogen sulfide in the blood gases and the tissues. This guy spent his life on the road, sniffing other people’s catalytic converters. I make him a truck driver, because of the diesel fuel.

The road may be rough, the journey may be tough, and the experience may be bitter, but they are stepping stones to our future thrones

True to Myself" September 10, 2024 at 12:04 PM Verse 1: I make mistakes, I’m out of control, Sometimes I’m wild, sometimes I’m bold, I’ve got a heart that’s hard to tame, But I’m not afraid to play the game. Chorus: It’s better to be hated for what you are, Than to be loved for what you’re not, by far, I’ll stand my ground, I’ll be my own man, Living life the way I can. Verse 2: I’ve been down roads that led to pain, But I’d do it all over again, I’d rather be real, face the storm, Than hide away, try to conform. Chorus: It’s better to be hated for what you are, Than to be loved for what you’re not, by far, I’ll stand my ground, I’ll be my own man, Living life the way I can. Bridge: So here’s to the ones who walk alone, Who find their way, make their own home, We might be rough, we might be scarred, But we’re true to ourselves, and that’s our guard. Chorus: It’s better to be hated for what you are, Than to be loved for what you’re not, by far, I’ll stand my ground, I’ll be my own man, Living life the way I can. Outro: I make mistakes, I’m out of control, But I’ve got a heart, and I’ve got a soul, I’ll keep on living, come what may, True to myself, every single day.

Hope Keeps Us Going September 21, 2024 at 8:13 AM Verse 1: In this small town, where the sunsets glow, Dreams are planted in the fields we know. Life gets tough, but we find our way, With hope in our hearts, we face each day. Chorus: Hope’s the spark that pulls you forward, The fire that keeps you going strong. Everyone must dream, to give ourselves hope, To stop dreaming, well, that’s like saying You can never change your future, oh no. Verse 2: Underneath the stars, by the fire’s light, We share our dreams, deep into the night. With family and love, we stand so tall, Through the highs and lows, we give it our all. Chorus: Hope’s the spark that pulls you forward, The fire that keeps you going strong. Everyone must dream, to give ourselves hope, To stop dreaming, well, that’s like saying You can never change your future, oh no. Bridge: When the road gets rough and the nights are long, Remember why we dream, and keep holding on. With every sunrise, a new chance to see, The future’s bright, just believe in me. Chorus: Hope’s the spark that pulls you forward, The fire that keeps you going strong. Everyone must dream, to give ourselves hope, To stop dreaming, well, that’s like saying You can never change your future, oh no. Outro: So let’s keep dreaming, with hope in our hearts, Together we’ll make it, no matter how far. With love and resilience, we’ll find our way, Hope keeps us going, day by day.

Everywhere You Are” October 6, 2024 at 11:56 AM Verse 1: I stand here in front of you, every day, Seeing the love in your face, the look in your eyes, There’s nothing in this world I could deny you, 'Cause when I was ready to see you, you were there, You were everywhere. Chorus: Everywhere you are, that’s where I wanna be, In your arms, in your heart, you’re my destiny, Through the highs and the lows, near or far, I’ll always find my way, everywhere you are. Verse 2: From the sunrise on the horizon, to the stars up in the sky, Your love is like a beacon, guiding me through the night, No matter where life takes us, no matter how far, I’ll always come back to you, 'cause you are my star. Chorus: Everywhere you are, that’s where I wanna be, In your arms, in your heart, you’re my destiny, Through the highs and the lows, near or far, I’ll always find my way, everywhere you are. Bridge: When the road gets rough and the days are long, Your love is my strength, it’s where I belong, With you by my side, I can face any storm, 'Cause everywhere you are, that’s where I feel warm. Chorus: Everywhere you are, that’s where I wanna be, In your arms, in your heart, you’re my destiny, Through the highs and the lows, near or far, I’ll always find my way, everywhere you are. Outro: So here I stand, looking into your eyes, With a love so true, it never dies, No matter where life takes us, near or far, I’ll always find my way, everywhere you are.

You ever seen a bear jump off a cliff ’cause life handed him a few rough draws? No, you haven’t. The wild keeps going till it don’t have strength in its muscles and bones. The wild don’t give up; it’s forever, and so was I.

After World War Two most Americans had a vision of a better life just ahead. At the core of it was owning one’s own house—and as Henry Ford’s invention and a rapidly improving network of roads and highways opened up the vast spaces of farmland surrounding American cities, the vision started to become a reality: Suburbia. Indeed, people knew even what they wanted to pay for their first house: $5,000, which was then roughly equal to an average family’s wages for two years.

Always There For Me Ode to my beloved Mother When there is no sunshine And stars do not shine in the night When the moon is not so bright And there seems to be no light You are always there for me When darkness is here And my pillow becomes a pool of tears When I am surrounded by fear And I need you near You are always there for me When the seas are rough on my side And I swim against the tide When I run out of time And I struggle in life You are always there for me When I am soaked in the rain And cloaked by pain When sadness puts me under strain And my joy goes down the drain You are always there for me When my mornings find me mourning And middays appear cloudy When midnights are filled with groaning And my new dawn is being delayed You are always there for me When the road is long And I need strength to go on When my voice is gone And I cannot sing a song You are always there for me When my heart is weak And I feel so weary When there is no sign of victory And I sometimes worry You are always there for me

When you are always in the grind, you think there will come a time when the rough road, blitzed with potholes and littered with blown tires, will smooth out, but that is never the case. In fact, if you go through life expecting that smooth road, you won’t be prepared when a pothole opens up on freshly laid blacktop and rocks you sideways one warm and pleasant evening.

The path of self-discipline is riddled with tempting detours, rough patches, and frustrating roadblocks. You need tools to help you weather such challenges. In the face of any temptation, distraction, or impulse, there’s a four-pronged tool you can use to fortify your self-discipline—four illuminating questions you need to immediately ask yourself. “Do I want to be a disciplined person or not?” You can answer this question only with a yes or a no; rationalizations, bargaining, exceptions, and conditions are not allowed. If you put off a task to give in to temptation, the answer must be no. By forcing you to classify yourself in such a black-or-white manner, you become better aware of the ways you might rationalize your lapse in self-discipline. “Am I doing the right thing or simply what’s easy?” Doing the right thing—that is, practicing self-discipline—often means you need to do the hard thing. If you find yourself always taking the path of least resistance, then you’re probably not building discipline and are letting your need for comfort dictate the course of your life. “What am I getting for dessert?” This question is all about calling to mind the reason why you’re sacrificing so much now, the reward at the end of the road. When you lose sight of your purpose, it becomes so much harder to maintain self-control and enjoy the journey on the way to it. Having constant reminders of your goals and making sure those goals are compelling enough for you to persist are ways you can fortify your self-discipline. “Am I being self-aware?” Self-discipline requires self-awareness. If you fail to recognize how you’re making excuses for your laziness or what motivations push you to act, then you will find the practice of self-discipline all that much harder. Meditation, as well as engaging in creative pursuits that get you to focus on the present and cultivate your self-awareness, can help you rise above temptations and stay on track to reach your goals.

They always have one foot in the pre-multitudinal side of the two way mirror. The Pre-prismed, Unseparated, Infinite, Love-emanating, Conscious Oneness side. It’s a pretty good gig if you can get it. Playing in form without getting lost in it. Very low attrition rates. But for us planet-bound, mostly closed-apertured, Greater-Reality-impoverished lowlanders, most of us most of the time don’t have even a modicum of that access. It can be a rough road, and even when it’s not, even when life’s pretty good or better, we’re still mostly really cut off from Greater Reality, from our Greater Consciousness. It’s

Inner Odyssey In the depths of my being, I feel a stirring, A sense of discontent, a restless yearning. A voice inside me whispers, "There's more to life," And I know that it's time to embrace the strife. Self-improvement is the call of the day, A journey that takes us along the way. To become the best version of ourselves, We must delve deep and know ourselves. The first step on the road to self-improvement, Is to accept ourselves with love and fulfillment. Acknowledging our flaws, without self-judgment, Embracing our strengths, with pride and contentment. Next, we must set our sights on a goal, Something that inspires, that stirs the soul. It could be a passion, a dream to chase, Or a new skill to learn, a challenge to face. With this goal in mind, we chart our course, And take the first step with courage and force. It may not be easy, the path may be rough, But with each step forward, we gain in rebuff. The road to self-improvement is not a sprint, But a marathon, where patience and persistence are the hint. With every day's effort, we inch closer to our aim, And as we move forward, we break free from the chain. Self-improvement requires discipline and focus, The determination to rise above the hocus-pocus. To maintain our momentum, we must prioritize, And make every moment count, as we surmise. The journey is long, and at times, we may stumble, But if we keep our eyes on the prize, we will not crumble. With every setback, we learn and grow, And with every success, we feel the glow. Self-improvement is not just about us, It's about those we touch, those who we fuss. As we grow, we inspire others to follow, And to chase their dreams, without any hollow. We become the beacon of light, a ray of hope, For those who are lost, a guide to help them cope. With our words and actions, we inspire change, And in doing so, our lives are rearrange. Self-improvement is not a destination, But a journey that unfolds, without limitation. As we reach one goal, we set our sights anew, And in doing so, we discover ourselves anew. So let us embrace the journey of self-improvement, And strive to be the best, with every moment. For as we grow and learn, we enrich our lives, And in doing so, we touch others' lives. The journey is long, but the rewards are great, For as we improve ourselves, we change our fate. So let us take the first step with courage and force, And embrace the journey with passion and remorse.

In turn, the Hadza have become so used to visiting scientists that hosting the researchers who observe them has become a way to supplement their income. Sadly, visiting scientists who want to emphasize how much they are studying bona fide hunter-gatherers sometimes turn a blind eye to the degree to which the Hadza’s way of life is changing as a result of contact with the outside world. These papers rarely mention how many Hadza children now go to government schools, and how the Hadza’s territory is almost entirely shared with neighboring tribes of farmers and pastoralists, with whom they trade and whose cows tramp all over the region. As I write this, the Hadza don’t yet have cell phones, but they are not isolated as they once were. Despite these limitations, there is still much to learn from the Hadza, and I am fortunate to have visited them on a couple of occasions. But to get to the Hadza is not easy. They live in a ring of inhospitable hills surrounding a seasonal, salty lake in northwestern Tanzania—a hot, arid, sunbaked region that is almost impossible to farm.13 The area has some of the worst roads on the planet. Of the roughly twelve hundred Hadza, only about four hundred still predominantly hunt and gather, and to find these few, more traditional Hadza, you need sturdy jeeps, an experienced guide, and a lot of skill to travel over treacherous terrain. After a rainstorm, driving twenty miles can take most of the day. Many things surprised me when I first walked into a Hadza camp mid-morning on a torrid, sunny day in 2013, but I remember being especially struck by how everyone was apparently doing nothing. Hadza camps consist of a few temporary grass huts that blend in with the surrounding bushes. I didn’t realize I had walked into a camp until I found myself amid about fifteen Hadza men, women, and children who were sitting on the ground as shown in figure 2. The women and children were relaxing on one side, and the men on another. One fellow was straightening some arrows, and a few children were toddling about, but no one was engaged in any hard work. To be sure, the Hadza weren’t lounging on sofas, watching TV, munching potato chips, and sipping soda, but they were doing what so many health experts warn us to avoid: sitting.

When the road gets really rough, lean on Him even more. He is still The Way!

Giving up on our dreams because life became rough and the road got bumpy is tantamount to blowing out our own pilot light.

I love you Huggy Bear!! Lift your head up sister It will be okay Pray for a better tomorrow And live for today Lift your head up sister I know it seems tough Troubles gather all around you And roads get rough Lift your head up sister There’s a light at the end Every battle is a struggle But with God you will win Lift your head up sister Even when people put you down You are more than a conqueror And through Christ, you’ll earn your crown Keep your head sister You are the head and not the tail Our father gave us the power Through it all you will prevail Lift your head up!! I know the plans that I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope Jeremiah 29:11

The choice is not laissez-faire vs. the status quo, because we cannot possibly keep the status quo anyway. Tremendous socioeconomic forces, set in motion long ago by governmental plundering and power-grabbing, are sweeping the present order out from under our feet. We can only choose whether we will allow ourselves to be pushed into economic chaos and political tyranny or whether we will resist the bureaucratic tyrants and looters and work to set up a free society where each man can live his own life and “do his own thing.” Whichever we choose, the road ahead will probably be rough; but the important question is, “What kind of society do we want to arrive at in the end?

Life is sometimes like a treacherous mountain road with deep ruts, dangerous curves, and deadly ravines. If you have ever traveled in remote areas of the world, there is no more relief than to get off that rough, primitive road and onto a smooth, paved, and level highway.

The agnostic has a very curious notion of religion. He is convinced that a man who says 'I believe in God' should at once become perfect; if this does not happen, then the believer must be a fraud and a hypocrite. He thinks that adherence to a religion is the end of the road, whereas it is in fact only the beginning of a very long and sometimes very rough road. He looks for consistency in religious people, however aware he may be of inconsistencies in himself. The fact that we do expect consistency of others - and are astonished by their lack of it - is sufficient proof of our awareness that the human personality ought to be unified under one command. Perhaps the most difficult of all the requirements of religion is simplicity, for the simple man is all of one piece; he does not leave bits of himself scattered all over the landscape of his life. He is, so to speak, the same all through, whichever way you slice him, and it has been said that only the saint has a right to say 'I'; the rest of us would do better to confess 'My name is legion'.

the bathroom down the hall, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, not knowing whom she’d run into and when. Indoor plumbing seemed unnecessary anyway. Getting water from the well and using the outdoor toilet was easy enough. But that shower, now that was a thing of beauty! She took the brush from the cabinet and let loose her single braid, as thick and long as the grasses that stood by the river back home. She shook her head so that her black hair fell loose, then brushed it, slowly and carefully, treating it as if every inch held a story. One stroke and then another, until it was smooth and silky, like the pajamas she slept in. They were different from the ones she wore at home, which she had made for herself. The stitching was too regular, too perfect to have been made by a young woman’s hand. Obviously, they were made by machine, like everything in Kabul. When Sunny had presented the room to her, she had been particularly proud of the full-length mirror that was framed in a shiny dark wood and sat on its own four legs. But Yazmina thought of it as vanity and had turned it away once Sunny had departed. Today, though, she turned it to face her. She put her hands on her stomach, where the life inside was growing with each new day, and looked at herself. She pulled the sleeping gown over her head, removed her undergarments, and there was her body, which she was seeing naked, in full, for the first time in her life. She was slim, her legs long and lean, her right leg still red and scraped from knee to thigh where she had fallen on the pebbled road when she was pushed out of the car. Her arms were slender but muscled from daily chores, still bruised by the rough grip of strong hands. She looked at her breasts, which were larger than usual because of her condition, but nothing like the long, low ones of Halajan, the old busybody who lived next door to the café and had an opinion about everything. Yazmina thought that woman had been sent by God himself to test her patience. No, Yazmina’s breasts were still “as glowing and round as the midnight moon,” as Najam used to tell her. She saddened at the memory of her husband’s face, his kisses and his touch. She would never feel such sweetness again. But she was with his baby. She turned to the side to look at her belly and stroked it with her two hands. She took a deep breath as if the air would give her all she and her baby needed to thrive. This will be my baby, she thought, my Najam, or if a girl, Inshallah, God willing, Najama (for Yazmina was convinced it was a girl, perhaps because it was Najam’s wish to have many children—a son or two, of course, but also a daughter who had the same light in her eyes as Yazmina). Not only would the baby be named after her father, but she would be a star lighting up the night sky, as the name meant. Najam’s seed was part of her, and she would cherish it and die trying to protect it.

you can expect to pay roughly a 40% tax over the course of your life.  40% OF YOUR WORKING LIFE will be spent working up the money to pay taxes.  Normally you would expect that 40% to go to government programs that benefit you (defense, roads, police, etc.), however, in reality 70% of that money goes to other people (in the form of welfare, food stamps, WIC, health care, etc.).  Mathematically translated this means out of a 50 year career, 14 of those years are literally you being a slave to other people.

By midlife we can't help but feel aware of the roads not taken. Our awareness can prompt anything from leisurely curiousity to profound regret. We look for ways to incorporate the dreams of our youth into our present reality. It's not simply boredom though it might be that too. We want to reconnect to people form our pasts, to set things straight or understand events from a different angle. We want our life stories to add up to make sense

Days of struggle get more grace than calm, quiet days. When night comes stars shine out which never would have appeared had not the sun gone down. Sorrow draws comfort that never would have come in joy. For the rough roads there are iron shoes.

That came from his tapes. We questioned everything we did. He instilled or reinforced in us quality consciousness. If you’re going to do something, you have to absolutely achieve excellence and set your internal compass toward excellence and go for that, because nothing else matters.” The process, though, could be rough.