the fragility of life steps heavy on our chests
Being a human is a unique and brutal experience. It is beautiful in that it is so singular; there is respectively nothing else like it, us, or you, in the universe. But planning a future feels more and more like walking into a fire. We have so much at stake, but we have somehow found a way to lay our odds in the hands of people who operate only on self-interest and control. I recently read that hope is a discipline, not a feeling, and I believe that. I am also not a discipled person, hence my attempt at last month's NaPoWriMo (some may call it a failure, but I call it a reminder that I love writing and hate structured activities with deadlines). I wish I was the type of person who sought instead of retreated when the world seems as though it's burning. There are a lot of people like that in my community, and the hope they provide people truly makes the world a better place. Hope has never been my strong suit, and I feel too small to save the world. Sometimes all I can muster is to look around and allow my heart to take it. Even this last month of my life alone has been filled with life-altering ups and downs, but it is all within the context of a world that feels irreparably broken, though I know it doesn't have to be. Sometimes all I can feel is sorrow.