Life has a painful, gut-wrenching way of putting sh*t into perspective. It has a way of knocking us down after we've fought so hard to stand; to bring us back to our knees either in fear or surrender. It cares nothing about our time, our desires or our plans. It delivers the messages it's meant to when it sees fit, with no concern for our emotional, physical or mental well-being. It does, it says, it is, whatever the hell it's meant to be, at the moment it's meant to be it, and then it's done. It ends. It's over.
In the short time we have, we're beaten over our heads for our obedience and our mistakes. For the good decisions and the bad ones. For living the way we dream, and for sometimes falling short. But in all of it—all that life hands us to consume as wildly and boldly as each breath—we're taught to take it. We're taught to digest it. To hold it, as effed up as it may come, and to trust that we can make it through. To trust that we've been equipped to handle the damaging realities we've been forced to accept.
To swallow death, disease, and depression. To respond to hatred, anger, and injustices. To make acquaintance with insecurities, brokenness, and heartache. To affix ourselves to the burden of unbearable pain and the uncertainty of tomorrow's torture—all while, maintaining the minimum level of hope that'll allow us to crawl into tomorrow.
We're not uplifted, we're numb. And tired. And hurt. We're sad; and the encouraging words aren't enough in this moment. Some of us are ready to sink to the bottom of the bathtub, bubbles lining our foreheads. We're ready to inhale near the bottom of the porcelain. We're ready throw in the towel. We're tired of fighting a battle we feel that we're constantly losing. Tired of taking two steps forward and five steps back. Tired of being told to 'tighten up' and to 'be strong'. Tired of getting unsolicited advice from people with closed minds and uncompassionate hearts.
So many of us are sitting outside on the ledge of the 15th floor, gazing at the dreariness of the night sky, relating it to our dimming light. We're clenching on to the railing beneath our palms, frightened by the envisioned feeling of concrete beneath our swinging feet. We're tired of this life but equally tired of being in this place—on this ledge—yet again. Battling between the reality of jumping and the ideology of hope. We're lost. We're afraid. We're diminished.
...but then the moonlight peeks from beneath the night's clouds and, again, reminds us that despite the darkness surrounding our existence, life is beautiful. That, our light is still shining. And, that we are equipped to handle it.
