Red's Wrap
Happiness. It's relative.
Aiming for the Lily Pads
If there’s no risk of failure, there’s no thrill in trying.
It’s the risk of failure that makes accomplishment exhilarating. If Sir Edmund Hillary knew with absolute certainty that he could climb Mt. Everest, he’d have stayed in his hut drinking tea and smoking a cigar. Amelia Earhart would have just posed for pictures next to her pretty handsome navigator while her husband looked on. I mean, why bother with all that time in the air if you have nothing to prove?
That said, if it was guaranteed that I wouldn’t fail, I would become a canola farmer so I could have vast fields of yellow flowers and then I’d buy five horses and have a special whistle for each one. I’d wear a bathing suit and ride bareback, jump a fence, and go flying through the air into a pond with lily pads.
You asked.
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Photo by Josie Weiss on Unsplash
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sounds wonderful. i’d live in a small stone cottage, surrounded by rolling meadows and woods, making cupcakes and dancing in the sunlight, barefoot with flowing dresses, with my sister standard poodles bouncing through the grass, and tending to my poetry and fairy garden, drinking coffee, and reading and listening to music.