“What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway. The good you do today will often be forgotten. Do good anyway… Give the best you have and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.” – Mother Theresa
Very few things in life really last. Our children grow up and our roles as parents change. Holidays and special occasions come and go. Years with our loved ones end up feeling like fleeting moments in time. Our favorite projects, at home or at work, often reach a peak before coming to an end, signaling that it’s time to move on to something else. In extreme cases, what we build and strive for can be torn down by others or taken for granted, never fully appreciated for the dedication and love that was poured into it. So why do we expend so much energy on things that may not last? Why do we plan, strive for, and devote ourselves to pursuits that may end up just being temporary?
Last night, I watched the movie Seven Years in Tibet with my daughter, and was reminded of a beautiful tradition that exists on the other side of the world. In India, during festivals and celebrations, women spend hours creating elaborate, patterned designs on their doorsteps called rangolis. Made of colored rice, dry flour or even flower petals, the art is intricate and beautiful. But despite the time-consuming, painstaking process of creating them, rangolis aren't meant to last forever. In fact, rain, wind and even insects slowly devour the evidence that these works of art ever existed, eventually erasing the brilliant designs altogether. Rangolis have a religious and symbolic meaning in Indian culture: they're a symbol of beauty, hope, and tradition, but also a way of connecting to the divine. For me, the dedication to making them despite their impermanence has also become an analogy for living. Here's why: The women who create rangolis know, before they even begin, that their work will be beautiful, celebrated and, eventually, gone. But they also know that it has purpose and meaning. They know their efforts will have an impact, if only for a moment in time, and that that moment will influence the hearts and minds of people that come across it. What's more, these women will reinvent new designs again when the time is right, with new patterns, colors and inspiration. The ancient tradition seems to mirror the act of living itself, recognizing that creating, in art and in life, is a meaningful, significant cycle, regardless of the outcome. It honors the impermanence of things and a desire to live in the present.
I believe that a well-lived life, like the art of creating rangolis, requires patience, effort, attention to detail and a great deal of love. It requires the expression of the self without limitation. It also requires accepting that many of the things we create and nurture, while beautiful, are meant to change or even end with the passing of time. Our lives and what they represent change from day to day and year to year, and this requires nothing short of contemplation, quiet courage and reinvention when the time is right.
Reinvention can be daunting at times. Reinvent anyway.
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