The Cost of Taking Ourselves Too Seriously 

 I asked Liessa the other day if, given the chance, she could go back and do one thing differently in the liminal space she occupied for seventy years, what would it be? As I listened to my own question, I realized I had never answered it for myself. But the moment I spoke it inwardly, the answer came without hesitation. I would not take myself so seriously. 

Life itself is serious. That reality asks to be honored. But taking myself too seriously is something else entirely. When we do that, we leave little room for beauty to enter. Life grows heavy, more burden than balance. We stay alert, guarding our personhood, managing impressions, protecting ground. And almost without noticing, we trade wonder for caution. 

Taking ourselves too seriously narrows the field of living. We settle into pedestrian rhythms when we were meant to wander. We forget that meaning often arrives not through control, but through openness. What is lost is not responsibility, but lightness. Not depth, but delight. Life was never meant to be carried alone on our shoulders. It was meant to be received.