The Power of Hopeful Wisdom


*Voice 1: You have been given a second chance to start your life over.

Voice 2: How can that be? I’m late middle age… hell, I’m old.

Voice 1: You can’t throw this opportunity away. If you do you will be a colossal fool.

Voice 2: I’m tired and don’t believe in things like I once did. Leave me alone.

Voice 1: If you get the chance to do something and don’t do it then you’ll simply live with regret.

Voice 2: I have failed so many times I am tired of even thinking about starting new.

Voice 1: That’s a worse situation than trying something daring and maybe not succeeding. At least you tried. Dare to dream!

Voice 2: Why should I believe I still have the ability to make what I wish for come true?

*Voice 1: If you did not have the capability to make your wildest wishes come true, your mind would not have the capacity to conjure such ideas in the first place.

Voice 2: But I am emotionally beat up and battle-scarred.

Voice 1: There is no limitation on what you can potentially achieve, except for the limitation you choose to impose on your own imagination.

Voice 2: So you’re saying if it is to be it’s up to me?

Voice 1: What you believe to be possible will always come to pass – to the extent that you deem it possible. It really is as simple as that.

The voice in my head was naively hopeful in my youth (Voice 1). In middle age, the experienced voice became wiser, but cynical (Voice 2). By fighting my tendencies and stirring both Voices together I was able to connect a measure of wisdom and hope. It took intention and a lot of effort to change my perceptions, but was worth the struggle.

To be wise to some extent and hopeful at the same time, now that’s a great life. I am grateful it is mine.

I am old and I have had
more than my share of good and bad.
I’ve had love and sorrow, seen sudden death
and been left alone and of love bereft.
I thought I would never love again
and I thought my life was grief and pain.
The edge between life and death was thin,
but then I discovered discipline.
I learned to smile when I felt sad,
I learned to take the good and the bad,
I learned to care a great deal more
for the world about me than before.
I began to forget the “Me” and “I”
and joined in life as it rolled by:
this may not mean sheer ecstasy
but is better by far than “I” and “Me.
Meryl Gordon

*Voice 1 borrowed from the writings of Anthon St. Maarten and Lorena Bathey