I do not know what possessed me to write this; the will to be different perhaps? Or maybe it is my autobiographical memory and an almost Freudian unconcious impulsivity over which I had no control. Regardless, here I am writing this. I suppose a part of me wants to inspire, to encourage, to tell the world that nothing is impossible if you will only want and try.
Good things have happened to me this week, an endless parade of flattery and compliments for which i feel somewhat undeserving. Forgetting however my family and those I pay - thus it is their duty - to be nice to me, compliemtns have all week been falling upon my door. This is wonderful and somewhat eye catching in as much that it has inspired me to take steps which before, I would likely not have taken. This Tuesday last I found myself dictating letters, as often is the case on my free afternoons, inspired by the kind opinions laid before me, I found myself writing a detailed letter to agents and publishers alike, a letter which brought me to think of this.
The opening line was a cliche, ' We all have a dream', I know, always the orginal line to begin with, but I realised how true it was, as I went on to talk about the impossible, I began to realise that nothing is impossible, simply imporbable. When I was young, I had a dream to write, since the earliest stages of literacy I wanted to do nothing with my life than bind lexicons into sentences with flawless orthography and syntax, something now I cannot do. Perhaps I was being over ambitious, of that I am aware, no matter how I'd like to be I cannot be William Shakespeare, that time is long past and spelling words as one pleases has long gone, taking with it the natural beauty of English of course.
No matter, no vicotyr comes without its sacrifice.
But what made me realise my dream was no impossible, despite what it may have seemed to those surrounding me that someone on the verge of blindness could write or read, well that just seemed impossible, but is it? It seemed impossible that I'd then study at University, or that I'd thrive in the world of University politics, that I'd be independent... So why could I not become a published author? Why was I holding back on my dream?
For my belief that the improbable was the impossible.
No matter, it seems, what the physical situation may be, the psycholigcal will always be stronger. What your body can do is useless without the minds will do, if you wish not to see, you will not. I do not believe in miracles, a blind man cannot see simply because he wills it, a paralysed child may never walk, no matter if he wants to, no, such miracles cannot occur.
Yet the more one seems to believe they cannot do something, the less they will be able to.
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