I ran across this on Brain Pickings today:
I love people. Everybody. I love them, I think, as a stamp collector loves his collection. Every story, every incident, every bit of conversation is raw material for me. My love’s not impersonal yet not wholly subjective either. I would like to be everyone, a cripple, a dying man, a whore, and then come back to write about my thoughts, my emotions, as that person.* But I am not omniscient. I have to live my life, and it is the only one I’ll ever have. And you cannot regard your own life with objective curiosity all the time…
Sylvia Plath was 18 years old when she wrote that in her journal. What a beautiful meditation on resiliency, curiousity, and embracing life whole heartedly. It inspires me.
From Now On I Live Mad 
I can totally relate to her sentiment. Fortunately, believing in reincarnation, I don’t think this is my only life, so I feel, in the course of my human existence, I will experience the wealth of learning that life offers in all it’s variations from the hidious to the sublime. It may or may not be the way life works, but it makes sense to me.
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