IF

My grandma’s house was a special retreat for me, filled with the smells of ginger, and cinnammon and warm chocolate chips cookies fresh from the oven. Her towels were crunchy when stepping out of the shower because she had hung each one to dry in the cool autumn air on the clothes line outside. Her garden was full of all the fruit that you could ask for as an eight year old, and she used it all in her cakes, cookies, and puddings.

One of the most memorable things about her house, was the framed verse she had hanging on the wall….I think of it often when I lose perspective on things. As I think of it, all of the other warm and fuzzy thoughts drift into my mind temporarily replacing what they need to.

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream and not make dreams your master;
If you can think and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build’em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!

~ Rudyard Kipling

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