grounded, left for dead —
It may be difficult for people who know me to believe this, but it feels like I am always on the brink of giving up — like I’m that close to giving up on everything, out of sheer frustration. Something keeps whispering, “forget it, dude. Take the blue pill. Tune out, step in line. Everything will be so much easier if you just put on the autopilot.”
I’m pretty sure that’s not true, though. The quittin’ part of me wants me to believe that following “the program” is easy, but the fightin’ part of me keeps telling me to look around and remember what I see: there are all these people who have been left behind by time’s passage, more or less mired in this mindset that keeps them from being able to move forward with their abilities, trying to slog it out until . . . what?
They failed to prepare, like the grasshopper who had to lean on the ants to get through the winter. They can’t work competently in the modern framework, but rather keep doing the same thing they were doing in their youth, with no consideration for what happens to them when they’re run aground by time and circumstance.
Forced into retirement, as it were, by the march of progress. Where’s the incentive for the ants to carry them to the finish line?
I will not be that guy. I refuse to go softly into anything. Indeed, I am on the brink of quitting, but I’m really just looking down. My foot tries to tell me I can’t run anymore, but I won’t let it tell me it’s the end of the line. We’ll see what happens when it stops hurting. Something keeps telling me I should give up on writing too, but I’m obviously too stubborn to let that go.
Bully for you.