I’m prepping for an interview, watching video, and happen to notice the guest has three French words tattooed on her left inner arm.
Curious, do a bit of digging.
They’re the final three words in a sentence from Albert Camus’ lyrical essay, Return to Tipasa, that appeared in the book, Summer, published in 1954.
English translation, “an invincible summer.”
The full sentence reads:
In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
Yummy. And, hopeful.
The notion that we are not just recipients of the warm glow of possibility, but also, even when its hard, the source.
Still, I want to know more.
I look for a translation of the full text.
Dive in.
There, seated comfortably a few sentences above the oft-cited summer quote, 16 words stop me in my tracks.
“For there is merely bad luck in not being loved; there is misfortune in not loving.”
Ooph.
We spend so much of our lives seeking to be seen. To be known. To be loved.
When it happens, it’s magical. The world coalesces in…