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winging word of the day: PERSEVERANCE

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thinking about getting into winging?
or maybe you've been winging a while now and already know...
perseverance and winging go hand in hand.
I've been meditating on this word for over a year now, so I figured I'd have some fun and make a video on it. I dedicate this to all my old, new, and future wing friends out there!
Here is the William Finnegan line I mention that really resonated with me:
On smaller days, perseverance was usually rewarded. Bigger days were another matter. From the water’s edge, looking out across a stepladder of six or seven walls of cold, growling, onrushing whitewater, the idea of paddling out actually carried with it a whiff of lunacy. The project looked impossible, like trying to swim up a waterfall. It took a literal leap of faith to start. You threw yourself into the icy torrent and started plowing seaward. The waves as they approached sounded like bowling balls rumbling down a lane, and then like the crashing of pins as they slammed into and rolled over your bowed head and shoulders, inducing instant ice-cream headache. Long, strain-filled minutes passed. Little or no progress. The frisky, punishing waves came on and on. You tried to present the least possible resistance to the onrushing walls of whitewater, willing them past your body even as they snatched at you, sucking you backward. Breathing turned to gasping, then rasping, and your mind began to play ever-shorter loops, turning over the same half-nonsensical questions: Is perseverance rewarded? Is it even recorded?
or maybe you've been winging a while now and already know...
perseverance and winging go hand in hand.
I've been meditating on this word for over a year now, so I figured I'd have some fun and make a video on it. I dedicate this to all my old, new, and future wing friends out there!
Here is the William Finnegan line I mention that really resonated with me:
On smaller days, perseverance was usually rewarded. Bigger days were another matter. From the water’s edge, looking out across a stepladder of six or seven walls of cold, growling, onrushing whitewater, the idea of paddling out actually carried with it a whiff of lunacy. The project looked impossible, like trying to swim up a waterfall. It took a literal leap of faith to start. You threw yourself into the icy torrent and started plowing seaward. The waves as they approached sounded like bowling balls rumbling down a lane, and then like the crashing of pins as they slammed into and rolled over your bowed head and shoulders, inducing instant ice-cream headache. Long, strain-filled minutes passed. Little or no progress. The frisky, punishing waves came on and on. You tried to present the least possible resistance to the onrushing walls of whitewater, willing them past your body even as they snatched at you, sucking you backward. Breathing turned to gasping, then rasping, and your mind began to play ever-shorter loops, turning over the same half-nonsensical questions: Is perseverance rewarded? Is it even recorded?
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