While I sit at home still trying to recover from this lingering respiratory cold, I started to realize how much one tries to do and how much time really doesn’t allow for it. We don’t suffer from ADD, you know? We really live in an era with an insurmountable number of distractions. Many obligatory ones. I took a short trip down my past postings and the collection of some of my thoughts. In the blink of an eye life, death and everything in between happens. It is not the amount of time that is limiting, it is the number of actions we must complete within our time which is un-moveable. Time doesn’t go faster nor does it slow down. It is what we do that decreases or increases. Too much to do really is a reality. We must find a way to start shifting responsibility sometimes away from ourselves. We aren’t bad managers of our time or bad organizers of our activities. Biting more than we can chew isn’t a cliché, is a habitual pattern of our existences which once started its engine lets loose and it becomes an unstoppable runaway train. Do you know any way to halt one of those not resulting in a major loss or in a radical, up-from-the-roots change?
What’s happened thus far? Too much to squeeze into a summary not deemed too-long-to-read by those absorbed by the vacuum their day to day life’s become. Isn’t this already a TLTR post? I mean, how many of us like, dislike, react to something we see just because of its headline without even really clicking through? If you are reading this, my congratulations for having found within yourself the curiosity that granted you the spark to click on my funky looking deer drawing I made, when inspired by my many times I try and guess how many deer I’ll see on my commute home from work; but they must be found only and only between the stretch of most easterner Melita Road and the last visible open space outside the field of Oakmont Drive and looking south.
What’s happened thus far… many of us almost lost our lives, our homes, our livelihoods; some of us did loose our lives, our homes, our livelihoods. It’s been a bit over three months and recovery from this is just simply not the same for some as it is for others. I am not a sensible one, I have no cork to put in it when I should and I’m not proud of such. It is a lot of work and learned skill to even locate a cork to put in it! I know that my timing is off by a lot and I also know that I suffer from selective hearing, selective understanding of what I hear, or my brain goes into autopilot and all it cares about is how to process any of its input the easiest possible way; So I definitely am not in the right to judge anyone who feels ready to move on, get on with with it, awakened, strengthened, determined, or have found a new light and see things differently; or anyone who places the label of resilience over an entire community or on themselves. And yet, sometimes I do find myself feeling judgemental over it. I find myself even judging myself over the fact that I am fortunate to not have lost my life, my home nor livelihood, to a point where I feel indignant over the lack of opportunity to mourn the whole thing and the way how the certainty of uncertainty has been overly stressed in such an aggressive and violent way.
How is anyone affected by a disaster that affects an entire community? How does one process its realities and the pictures of the future that community wide disasters and tragedies paint? More questions than answers, and then.. should one partially feel grateful for even having the opportunity to question? Where I am is somewhere where I wasn’t yesterday, where I will not be tomorrow, and having known trauma first hand on more occasions than I’d like to share, I am where I’ll be unwillingly revisiting in the future. For this I don’t feel better, I do feel worse; and though I don’t feel it, my mind’s third eye certainly makes me know & see that today I’m just too damn lucky.