Growing up, my Mom lived as if everyone possessed something of great value no matter what their circumstances might have been. She hated guns, despite being from a family of hunters. The worst thing I ever heard her call a man was "limited." I don't remember her ever saying a swear word. I was practically an adult before I learned that some people complain all the time. For her, the biggest mistake a person can make is to give up. I was raised to think that quitting is a sin. My Mom and Dad were on the same page in regards to all these matters. This was the best gift ever given to me.
They say when a horse sighs it means that it has given up but when a mule sighs it means it is thinking of a new plan. Mine is a family of mules.
From time to time, the journey we are on takes us to where we feel that we are in the right place. You're certain you are where you are supposed to be. The first time I felt this, in a really profound way, was at Catoctin Quaker Camp when I was still a teenager. It is a feeling of contentment and fulfillment; sometimes it feels like being drenched in light, in joy. It can happen when you sink a putt, at the Opera, on a walk in the woods, when you are surrounded by family, sometimes for no apparent reason at all. It can feel spiritual; when you realize the enormity of a starry night, when you feel spontaneous compassion toward a stranger, when words come through you (which can happen in Meeting or, sometimes, at the keyboard) that you barely recognize as being your own. This sense of completeness is not tied to test scores or to your marginal tax rate. It seems undeserved. I don't know why, but I find it hard to separate the feeling of being in the right place, being grounded, whole, complete with being stubborn, not quitting, never giving up. Maybe I'm wrong, but they feel like two sides of the same coin.