Scott of the Antarctic

Last night I was thinking about Robert Falcon Scott, or “Scott of the Antarctic” while he froze hungering on the edge of the Antarctic. A hero in many books for he died (some say knowingly) on his return mission from the axis of the world and, greatest discovery, human kindness. I have also searched for a particular expression of that, but I am left hungering. It goes like this: I try, then fall…I get up and fall again…it’s harder to get up each time I fall…I start to see that it’s over and it didn’t work…start again of course…but i’m tired… and that shouldn’t make a difference… but it does…so try harder… but my strength is less…ok here’s the fact of the situation…get up and get on with it or lie down and die. You see like Scott I am prepared to die for this pursuit; though I doubt I’d have the balls to do what Scott did. Instead my experience is as the earth turns, the years pass, I die a little here and there from conceit leavened with grief.

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