Snowball

by james mathias / 2014 / personal

A snowball. It’s small, round, pure.

The funny thing about this cute, little, innocuous guy is that if I let him go, he’ll careen out of control, and change. In the blink of an eye, he’ll go from being what he is now to being something he’s not supposed to be, and if I don’t keep an eye on him, he’ll grow out of control, and be near impossible to stop.

The larger he becomes the harder it is for him to change course. To go back up the hill.

You see it’s easy to go down a hill, it’s easy to get bigger and bigger, and keep heading in the same exact direction.

It’s hard, extremely hard, for him to stop and say “Wait. Up the hill is where I need to be, where I want to be.”

It’s hard because his little snowball voice inside says “But up the hill requires hard work, it’s slow. Down the hill is fast, and fun and easy!”

And his other voice, the one that wants to change, he says “But, as you go up the hill you get smaller, you gain perspective, you find that at the top it’s better. You see things more clearly. The air is better, the sky is beautiful, the breeze feels a blessing on our snowy little cheeks.”

Every day one voice needs to be louder, one voice needs to win.

So far, the take it easy voice has been winning. Today, the voice of change had a tiny victory.

At the core none of us were meant to be common. We were born to be comets. Darting across space and time, leaving our mark as we crash into everything.

Donovan Livingston circa 2016, Havard Commencement