Dear 43 Things Users,

10 years after introducing 43 Things to the world, we have decided we have met our last goal: completing the incredible experience that has been 43 Things. Please join us in giving one last cheer to all the folks who have shared their goals with the world, as well as all the people who have worked at The Robot Co-op to build this incredible website. We won a Webby Award, published a book, and brought happiness to a lot of people.

Starting today, 43 Things users can export their goals and entries from the site. Starting August 15, we will make the site “read only”. 43 Things users will still be able to view the site and export their content, but we won’t be taking any new content from users. We hope to leave the site up for folks to see and download their content until the end of the year. Ending on New Year’s Eve takes us full circle.

It has been a long ride (one of our original goals was to "build a company that lasts at least 2 years” - we beat that one!) While we wish the site could live on, it has suffered from a number of challenges - changes in how people use the site, the advertising industry, and how search engines view the site. We wish the outcome was different – but we’ve always been realistic about when our goals are met and when they aren't.

As of today, you will be able to download your goals and entries. See more about that on the FAQ page. Thanks for 10 great years of goal-setting and achieving.

- The Robots.

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WildcranberriesIn defence of not always having a cool head

“Nothing good in the world has been accomplished without passion.”
- Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel 5 years ago


WildcranberriesFriendship

“When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence,
as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.
For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.

And let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know the flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.
And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.”

From The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran 5 years ago


WildcranberriesBeautiful and good

“Luxury is not a necessity to me, but beautiful and good things are.”
— Anais Nin 6 years ago


WildcranberriesThe art of living

The mistress in the art of living makes little distinction between her work and her play, her labour and her leisure, her mind and her body, her information and her recreation, her love and her religion. She hardly knows which is which. She simply pursues her vision of excellence whatever she does, leaving others to decide whether she is working or playing. To her she’s always doing both.
- James Michener (gender of quotation modified)6 years ago


WildcranberriesEmerson: Give All to Love

Give all to love;
Obey thy heart;
Friends, kindred, days,
Estate, good-fame,
Plans, credit and the Muse,
Nothing refuse.

‘T is a brave master;
Let it have scope:
Follow it utterly,
Hope beyond hope:
High and more high
It dives into noon,
With wing unspent,
Untold intent;
But it is a god,
Knows its own path
And the outlets of the sky.

It was never for the mean;
It requireth courage stout.
Souls above doubt,
Valor unbending,
It will reward,
They shall return
More than they were,
And ever ascending.

Leave all for love;
Yet, hear me, yet,
One word more thy heart behoved,
One pulse more of firm endeavor,
Keep thee to-day,
To-morrow, forever,
Free as an Arab
Of thy beloved.

Cling with life to the maid;
But when the surprise,
First vague shadow of surmise
Flits across her bosom young,
Of a joy apart from thee,
Free be she, fancy-free;
Nor thou detain her vesture’s hem,
Nor the palest rose she flung
From her summer diadem.

Though thou loved her as thyself,
As a self of purer clay,
Though her parting dims the day,
Stealing grace from all alive;
Heartily know,
When half-gods go,
The gods arrive. 6 years ago


WildcranberriesLisa Ekdahl

translation from Swedish to English courtesy of my Swedish friend U

And this will be quite enough about that. I have a life to live.

Lisa Ekdahl: Du Var Inte Där För Mig

Jag föll men inte fångade du mig
Du vände och gick hemåt till dig
Då jag krossades brutalt, vände du dig inte om
Fast du hade bett mig hoppa, fast du hade viskat – kom
Då jag fallit tror jag inte du såg
Hur förkrossad jag var där jag låg

Kanske har jag fel, men jag tyckte att du log
Och jag tänkte, om jag dör blir det för detta leende jag dog
Och jag minns hur jag så ner från en svindlande höjd
Där såg jag dig – leende och nöjd
Jag trodde du kommit hit för att möta mig
Men halvvägs i luften såg jag – att jag misstagit mig
Du var inte där för mig

Jag föll som om jag trodde att jag var
Beskyddad av dig – ja, osårbar
Jag visste inte då att ett ja kan bli ett nej
Men halvvägs i luften såg jag – att du hade ändrat dig
För utan tvekan vände du och gick
Du gick utan att möta min blick

Kanske har jag fel, men jag tyckte att du log
Och jag tänkte att om jag dör blir det för detta leende jag dog
Och jag minns jag såg ner från en svindlande höjd
Där såg jag dig – leende och nöjd
Jag trodde du kommit hit för att möta mig
Men halvvägs i luften såg jag – att jag misstagit mig

Du var inte där för mig
Du var inte där för mig
Du var inte där för mig
Du var inte där för mig


I fell but you didn’t catch me
You turned and went back to your home
When I was brutally crushed you didn’t turn back
Although you’d asked me to jump, though you had whispered ‘come’
After I’d fallen I don’t think you ever saw
How crushed I lay where I fell

Maybe I’m wrong but I thought that you smiled
And I thought: If I die, it will be for that smile I died
And I remember how I looked down from dizzying heights
And saw you there – smiling and glad
I thought you had come there to meet me
But halfway through the air I saw I’d made I mistake
You were not there for me

I fell as if I thought I was
protected by you – yes, invincible
I didn’t know then how a ‘yes’ can turn into a ‘no’
But halfway in the air I saw that you had changed
Because without wavering, you turned away and went
You went without meeting my gaze

Maybe I’m wrong but I thought that you smiled
And I thought: If I die, it will be for that smile I died
and I remember how I looked down from dizzying heights
And saw you there – smiling and glad
I thought you had come there to meet me
But halfway through the air I saw I’d made I mistake
You were not there for me

You were not there for me
You were not there for me
You were not there for me
You were not there for me 6 years ago


WildcranberriesEnlisting help from 43Ters

My British gentleman burglar friend pointed out that if I’m really going to live in the USA, I’ll have to stop my innocent habit of using the f-word that I’ve gained through communicating mostly through writing. Apparently it’s not ladylike. I’m at a loss for genteel alternatives, though. I’ve got “dashed”, but I’m having difficulties converting that to all uses. “That dashing bastard” doesn’t sound quite right, for example. Or maybe it does, but not quite what I meant. Neither does “This dashed hurts”. So, how to replace f * * * k, f * * * king, f * * * ker and f * * * ed in different contexts, sounding more like an International Woman of Mystery than a stevedore? 6 years ago


WildcranberriesChange and growth

Change and growth take place when a person has risked himself and dares to become involved with experimenting with his own life.
- Herbert Otto 6 years ago


WildcranberriesTruth

“And we should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once. And we should call every truth false which was not accompanied by at least one laugh.”
-Friedrich Nietzsche 6 years ago


WildcranberriesChange

Waters stink soon, if in one place they bide,
And in the vast sea are worse putrified:
But when they kiss one bank, and leaving this
Never look back, but the next bank to kiss,
Then are they purest; change is the nursery
Of music, joy, life and eternity.

[From: Elegy 3: Change by John Donne, a brilliant argument for serial monogamy]6 years ago


WildcranberriesRyan Adams: Desire

Two hearts fading, like a flower.
And all this waiting, for the power.
For some answer, to this fire.
Sinking slowly. The water’s higher.
Desire

With no secrets. No obsession.
This time I’m speeding with no direction.
Without a reason. What is this fire?
Burning slowly. My one and only.
Desire

You know me. You don’t mind waiting.
You just can’t show me, but God I’m praying,
That you’ll find me, and that you’ll see me,
That you run and never tire.
Desire

Can be listened to here6 years ago


WildcranberriesLearn by going

Theodore Roethke: The Waking

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go. 6 years ago


WildcranberriesBad faith

My dear friend/colleague from Scotland had been reading Jean-Paul Sartre, the father of existentialism, and was very into the concept of ‘bad faith’. This is how Sartre explains it, apparently:

There’s a woman who’s not sure about what she feels for a man. They go out to have dinner, but the woman’s not sure if it’s a date or just two friends meeting; nor is she sure which she would like it to be. During the dinner, she rests her hand on the table, and at one point the man puts his hand over hers. Now, the woman would need to decide: if she withdraws her hand, she is signalling that this is friendship; the door to something else will be closed. If she keeps her hand there, she is acknowledging that this is a date, after all, and that it is what she wants, too.

But the woman has bad faith, and refuses to make the decision: she keeps her hand there, but pretends she’s so engrossed in conversation that she hasn’t noticed the man’s hand. This is ‘bad faith’, unauthentic living; the refusal to take the existential responsibility of choosing. 6 years ago


WildcranberriesAuthor unknown

“We remain the same until the pain of remaining the same exceeds the pain of change.” 6 years ago


WildcranberriesAnaïs Nin day today

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”

“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.”

“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.” 6 years ago


WildcranberriesSimone de Beauvoir:

“Genuine love ought to be founded on the mutual recognition of two liberties; the lovers would then experience themselves both as self and as other: neither would give up transcendence, neither would be mutilated; together they would manifest values and aims in the world. [...]

Love as a form of perception brings to light new skies and a new earth even in the landscape where we have always lived.”

From The Second Sex6 years ago


WildcranberriesMy username

Request

A hundred years hence,
if some version
of the given world
still exists,
I’d like to meet you
all over again, dear,
in the winter home
of black-necked cranes,
amidst glassy patches
of frozen grass.
The birds would stare rudely,
eyes emitting
a glittering mineral glare,
designed to register
gnats’ infintesimal acrobatics.
We’d stand motionless
as the seasons changed, as
our hearts, slowed by cold
and later enlivened by thaw,
turned first to wrought iron,
then bent themselves
into perfect treble clefs.
Perhaps hell will have frozen
over by that late date,
posing no further threat.
Orchids and alpine flowers,
with their riot of color,
will carpet the yak pastures.
With the sincerity
of wild cranberries,
I hope, at that moment
of gradual, future warming,
that your resistence
to my well-intentioned advances
has thinned to an obstacle
I can simply bite through
with a delicate snap,
like a rice cracker.
I pray you’ll no longer
refuse my adoring overtures
as we pass through bamboo forests
populated by monkeys
who shower us with bruised fruit
and human babies they’ve kidnapped,
who tumble into our arms, unharmed.
You’ll allow me to lead you
where travelers seldom venture,
into a vine-covered temple
that suddenly becomes visible
through tattered mists.
There, leaning against
some well-curtained
inner sanctum’s red doorway,
we finally begin kissing,
and you’re so overcome
it takes you forever to notice
the room is on fire

Amy Gerstler 6 years ago


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