Feeling like life never quite fits correctly, regardless of setting or circumstance, can be an exhausting existence. Navigating near misses for fear that fleeting targets offer only temporary comfort is a stamina test that turns a neighborhood dog walk into the Iditarod.
Wool sweaters don’t belong on naked summer skin, regardless of how much they’re adjusted.
The impermanence of satisfaction may be the most slippery section of the obstacle course, so we dance along the stable edges of the path, trusting the mud won’t slide beneath our feet. But it always does.
We trip and fall and stand up and clean our clothes and get back on the bike. We aren’t aware of another way, and we don’t generally have a surplus of alternative options. The hamster doesn’t abandon the wheel every time it can’t keep pace with the spin.
But the monotony of the routine realization that rainbows don’t always follow the rain can make even the sunniest skies seem heavy with projected impending clouds. The mind’s eye is 20/20, even when blinded by the truth.
If discomfort comes from the core, chasing a moving target is a circular dance where the starting and finish lines share an eerie similarity. External factors only color the periphery. The internal engine is the one that needs regular maintenance.
If you also walk through the world feeling like an alien dropped on a foreign planet without a translator, don’t despair. You are not alone.
When enough square pegs are stacked in a row, they eventually form a bridge.