Often futile. We struggle anyway. One day we’ll breathe our last – our final struggle. Only then we’ll know so many struggles past were silly ones. Of youth, of middle-age, some stage we squeezed through, learning what struggling is for because most of us, so lucky, didn’t leave homelands and families behind, didn’t leave dreams and schemes behind. We take almost anything with us wherever we go. We might leave some things, some money and some memories behind.
They are small compared to what is ahead of us.
Amazed by struggle, not by those who struggle – but by this reality that struggle works. Struggle cuts into things – saws both ways, deeply cuts expectations, hopes and dreams. More head than belly, more words than head, more actions than words – but struggle is not reward.
We struggle for something, or against something, often with childish belief we will get what we want regardless the odds. We stand up, shout out, strategize, politicize and angle for every advantage we might get in some issue/ideology tug-o-war. Still, we struggle.
Being wrong, proven wrong or perceived as wrong – bulling-ahead in hopes we’ll pull ahead of opposing forces, outlast them or outlive them. Over what?
Not so difficult. Set aside pride, conviction and stated commitment. Cower, shrink, change venue, change menu, rise again. Fight another day, another way, tilt at some other windmill some other way.
Something important. Something worth struggling for. Giving up, giving in, giving way … no way. This day is not the past, it is the future, but it won’t last. There will always be a tomorrow, until there isn’t.
written / published from Calgary, AB
morning walk: -2C/29F, magnificent stars against moonless inkiness, early freight train rumbling by – dog and man, solitude on empty streets before the city wakes, Gusta wagging her tail as if there was something to celebrate. Maybe there is …