Category: Clara Bensen

Clara Bensen

If the only thing I did for the rest of my life was treat others kindly, file manila folders, and sit on the porch watching the grass grow it would be enough. It had to be. I did the math. The number of people who actually achieve a significant legacy is trifling compared to the vast number who go from birth to death living relatively unremarkable lives (at least on the surface). And maybe that wasn’t the failure I’d been conditioned to believe. Maybe there was something to be said in praise of an outwardly unremarkable life. Maybe there were deep everyday forms of magic that had nothing to do with profound acomplishments or a Twitter feed that resonated down through the ages.

Clara Bensen

I don’t think I’m entirely on board with the ‘do what you truly want to do’ school of thought. Not without a little more nuance. There has to be an anchor in the wide-open space. Otherwise, ‘doing what you truly want’ isn’t an authentic attempt at exploration — it’s just another hyper-individualistic credo masquerading as something grand. I mean we’re all gung ho about pursuing personal freedom, but why do we want it? If we never constructively apply it to something beyond ourselves, and if it doesn’t deepen our sense of connection and humanity, then what’s the point?

Clara Bensen

My unfurling began with stillness. Instead of sprinting from terror or trying to karate chop the emptiness away, I set out a welcome mat. If I was going to be mad, I might as well acquaint myself with madness. It was an open house for monsters and I turned none away. I sat breathing in and out, sometimes for hours, as a parade of pronged horns, sharp claws, and hungry jaws moved past, invisible bodies breathing hot against my neck. (p. 240)

Clara Bensen

My unfurling began with stillness. Instead of sprinting from terror or trying to karate chop the emptiness away, I set out a welcome mat. If I was going to be mad, I might as well acquaint myself with madness. It was an open house for monsters and I turned none away. I sat breathing in and out, sometimes for hours, as a parade of pronged horns, sharp claws, and hungry jaws moved past, invisible bodies breathing hot against my neck. (p. 240)