Sometimes it seems to me that we forget we're alive. I do. I forget. It's so subtle. How does that happen? Familiarity breeds complacency I guess.
And yet, I'm not complacent. Not really. And I don't know anyone else who isn't struggling at times either.
But my room was my room, my safe zone. They weren't allowed. So I would bar the door with my weight on my side and one (or the other) would push from the outside. Eventually we would grow weary and then sit with our backs against each other, the door between us. Equally stubborn and competitive, neither wanted to be the first to surrender and thus that pressure, that strain against the door, that burden became familiar.
Bills. Family problems. Work stress. Uncertainty. Changes. These are the familiar burdens now. So we do what we can under the circumstances. We manage. We cope with the strain and eventually, it seems no wonder to me that we get so familiar with coping we may even forget why we're leaning so hard and maybe even what we're leaning against. It's just the cumulative weight of the world on the other side of the door. Like Atlas, we endure.
But this interferes with truly living.
And then something happens.
Might be good: suddenly the weight on the other side of the door shifts and there's an opening inside, we see anew. Might be bad: and we are forced to open the door ourselves.
Either way, I believe this opening is when we suddenly feel alive again, alive enough that we recognize the exertion, recognize the ache, recognize the opening.
And whether it's good or bad, isn't it ultimately still an opportunity? We can invite something into our lives or perhaps go somewhere we haven't gone before. Or sadly we could just choose to remain leaning into the weight against the door.