If -
Rudyard Kipling
What it means to me
If only our struggle with achieving balance were easier. If only the struggle with doing the right thing were nice. If only the goalposts
weren't being moved all the time. So how about drawing the line so far away from where you are now, that it will not change anytime soon?
This inspirational poem, If, by Rudyard Kipling is a father's attempt to provide his son with some goalposts in life. An attempt to define
balance. An urging to his son not to be too much of any one thing, but living life fully regardless of success or failure.
Yes, I ultimately want to be successful, but I do not want to let life pass me by while I am trying to become successful. This poem give
me an indication of the things one can strive to maintain, e.g. "walk with kings--nor lose the common touch." If you want to be a man, first
be a son.
The poem: If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
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