I. I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. I am lost… I am helpless. It isn’t my fault. It takes forever to find a way out.
II. I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I pretend I don’t see it. I fall in again. I can’t believe I am in the same place. But, it isn’t my fault. It still takes a long time to get out.
III. I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it is there. I still fall in… it’s a habit. My eyes are open. I know where I am. It is my fault. I get out immediately.
IV. I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it.
V. I walk down another street.
— Portia Nelson (often attributed to Nyoshul Khenpo)
This “autobiography” is so beautiful that I share it with pleasure—passing it forward. When I look back at my own autobiography, I also see the holes I’ve fallen into and the streets I’ve changed. When I look ahead, I see other streets with other holes. It seems that every autobiography is a street with holes, and the art of living is learning from experience every time we fall.
