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<blockquote style="position: relative; padding-left: 55px;"><section><a href="https://zirk.us/users/jordinn/statuses/112034193162928884">that one JNL (jordinn@zirk.us)'s status on Friday, 15-Mar-2024 11:06:45 JST</a><a href="https://zirk.us/@jordinn" title="jordinn@zirk.us"><img src="https://gnusocial.jp/avatar/149999-48-20240609155027.webp" width="48" height="48" alt="that one JNL" style="position: absolute; left: 0; top: 0;">that one JNL</a><div><a href="https://zirk.us/@jordinn/112034118722814514" rel="in-reply-to">in reply to</a></div></section><article><p>My favorite poem about choosing in all its mixed blessings</p></article><footer><a rel="bookmark" href="https://gnusocial.jp/conversation/2786491#notice-5608926">In conversation</a><time datetime="2024-03-15T11:06:45+09:00" title="Friday, 15-Mar-2024 11:06:45 JST">about 8 months ago</time> <span>from <span><a href="https://zirk.us/@jordinn/112034193162928884" rel="external" title="Sent from zirk.us via ActivityPub">zirk.us</a></span></span><a href="https://zirk.us/@jordinn/112034193162928884">permalink</a><h4>Attachments</h4><ol><li><label><a rel="external" href="https://gnusocial.jp/attachment/2377873">ChoiceThere isn’t a right answer.
There just isn’t. The game show
where the bells ring and the points
go up and the confetti falls
because you got the answer
is a lie. The preacher who would assure you
of how to attain salvation
is making it all up. The doctor
who knows just how to fix
what ails you will be sure
of something else tomorrow.
Every choice will
wound someone, heal someone,
build a wall and open a conversation.
Things will always happen
that you can’t foresee.
But you have to choose.
It’s all we have—that little rudder
that we employ in the midst
of all the eddies and rapids,
the current that pulls us
inexorably toward the sea.
The fact that you are swept along
by the river is no excuse.
Watch where you are going.
Lean in toward what you love.
When in doubt, tell the truth.–Lynn Ungar</a></label><br><a href="https://cdn.masto.host/zirkus/media_attachments/files/112/034/189/585/172/804/original/81a0eb1f301bb61a.png" rel="external">https://cdn.masto.host/zirkus/media_attachments/files/112/034/189/585/172/804/original/81a0eb1f301bb61a.png</a></li></ol></footer></blockquote>

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that one JNL (jordinn@zirk.us)'s status on Friday, 15-Mar-2024 11:06:45 JST that one JNL
in reply to
My favorite poem about choosing in all its mixed blessings
In conversationabout 8 months ago from zirk.uspermalink
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1. Choice There isn’t a right answer. There just isn’t. The game show where the bells ring and the points go up and the confetti falls because you got the answer is a lie. The preacher who would assure you of how to attain salvation is making it all up. The doctor who knows just how to fix what ails you will be sure of something else tomorrow. Every choice will wound someone, heal someone, build a wall and open a conversation. Things will always happen that you can’t foresee. But you have to choose. It’s all we have—that little rudder that we employ in the midst of all the eddies and rapids, the current that pulls us inexorably toward the sea. The fact that you are swept along by the river is no excuse. Watch where you are going. Lean in toward what you love. When in doubt, tell the truth. –Lynn Ungar
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