People rarely want others to pull their bootstraps up for them. Toddlers yell, “Me do it!” and those who should no longer climb ladders climb anyway. We exert a lot of energy hiding our holey underwear and shameful weaknesses, but in reality, independence is an illusion. Humans need each other, but we’re loathe to admit it.
“Did you intend for us to evolve in this paradoxical way?” I ask the Evolutionary Forces of the Universe.
“Not exactly,” they admit. “We don’t set intentions, but we like watching. You’re a fascinating species, and we’re on your side.”
So who’s to blame? In my circles, bearing the brunt of the blame is a virtuous act, the opposite of self-preservation. God and slightly lesser beings often step in, but I’m not sure it solves anything. Nothing happens for a reason except for the creatively cobbled explanations we use to calm our nerves.
“Are you willing to be the reason?” I ask the Imputed Reason for Everything.
Gale-force laughter greets another hurricane season. Suffering ensues.
Death comes to all, but life begets itself. Throngs of people scroll by, dressed to the nines, filling their pockets with shiny objects, too distracted to partake of the fruit of the Moment–the tasty tidbits hanging ripe on the Tree.
“Are you as rich and omnipresent as they say?” I ask The Moment.
“Are you as dense as it seems?” The Moment chuckles. “Here, take a bite.”
I bite. The Moment declares itself to be good. And it is.
“Could we just stay here?” I ask, but The Moment sours as I cling.
Soft voice. Big Stick. Warm heart. Cold feet. The trill of the warbler, the croak of the crow. The penetrating glance of a stranger. A penny for your thoughts. The terror of being utterly alone. The lamb, lost. Found. Lost again.
Try as you might, you cannot wrest control of any situation for long.
Finally, exhausted, you stare out the window, awaiting the news. You suspect what’s coming won’t be to your liking, but you stand there anyway, hoping.
“Some days are easier than others,” my Coauthor whispers.
“I know,” I nod. “But the overall trajectory doesn’t bode well.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” the Muses sigh. “Ain’t that the god-awful truth?”
The secret to life hangs in the balance. The reset button is fickle; forgiveness is the wiser choice. You can borrow a ladder and climb to the moon. Start your engines and race to the sea. Climb on your high horse and ride into town. Or you can find your center, stretch, and breathe. There is no such thing as forever. Just breathe.
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