Given all the things going on in the world, it often feels ridiculous to complain about the situations we find ourselves in. We bottle up our stresses, our concerns, and our frustrations, bury them deep down, and keep moving forwards. We are encouraged to “keep calm, and carry on”.
We sometimes wonder how long we can keep doing it for. How long can we keep putting one foot in front of the other and disregarding the mountain of stress, obligation, and expectation we drag behind us?
I can’t even remember where most of my mountain came from, or how long it’s been there for. I sometimes wonder how one might go about cutting tethers to it all, but then wonder if “who I am” is tied up in the experiences, memories, and lessons learned along the way. Maybe it all has value. Maybe not.
Perhaps the empathy we feel for others is bound up in the stuff we drag behind us. Maybe the connections we make with others happen because we get caught up with each other somehow while trudging along our path, and curiosity does the rest ?
I don’t know. I don’t expect anybody else knows either. We’re all kind of making it up as we go along really. Some people rely on old books full of stories to dictate their behaviour, others rely on fear, and others don’t seem to have an instruction book at all. They blunder from one disaster to the next, while the rest of us pick the pieces up in their wake.
I don’t think I really have a point to this post. My writing has become a broken weather-vane of sorts – spinning in the wind, pointing this way and that. I’m sure somebody will come along and fix it soon.