Into the maze

New Years thoughts - short essay

Happy 2023! I trust all of you lived the last few days of 22 in the best fashion possible. As anyone does this time of year, I’ve taken some time to think about life, what’s important and what’s not. This month, I’ll be sharing some of my thoughts. I guess they aren’t technically short stories, more short essays. But to keep things interesting I’ve avoided the usual ted talk vibe you might have read lately about the do's and don'ts of goal setting or reflecting.

We take strides every day. Some lead us to the future we’ve dreamt of since we gazed at the sky wondering where the stars that fill it came from. Others take us to our responsibilities, ones we take pride in, and others fulfilled mindlessly, tasteless and dry. In the morning, crowds stride along pavements, down the country lanes and through numbing hallways, swiping cards and typing keys. The afternoon arrives, and we stride some more to feed our growling bodies or addicted minds. Evening calls, and we step into it, searching for love or those we’ve lost. There are days when they are one and the same and others when neither exists. 

Days pass by in this comfortable life, like scenes framed by a moving train. Only a keen eye will spot the differences. It is a life of consistent inconsistency. They are friends, playing together, pulling either end of a rope, neither falling to the floor nor sliding an inch. Even in this comfortable life, we are still pushed forwards, striding from place to place, only stopping to change our shoes once they are worn through or tie our laces if they have been shaken loose. But where are we heading? To a better life, something more comfortable, perhaps a life with more jewellery or one with less of a need to stride in such quantity? Or do we stride for striding's sake? Is our forward march the honey that sustains our colonies, the sweetness life rewards us with for showing up? 

I am striding now, my feet are still, but my mind hurries along, pushing forwards to a place where I might get a taste of that sweetness. But it is hard to find, even when you look every day. It is elusive; one misstep and you find yourself in sour darkness. And even if there is some sweetness around, sometimes it is not meant for you. But as with everything in this comfortable life, even the sweetest drops fade away, washed off your tongue by the next bite. There is no time to savour its taste, once it is passed your lips, forgotten is its charm, spitefully replaced by the questions. 

Then as we always have, we stride; onto pavements and along country lanes, searching for the things we do not know. Behind us, journeys become memories littering the streets, felling trees, and staining seas. But there is no time to mourn our losses; we are too restless to continue, something is calling us. Perhaps we are late for dinner, lost in a convoluted maze, or trudging at the tail of a great expedition. 

Coming, we answer, bending down to tie our laces and pull up our socks. How much time do they have left in them? A year; two if we are light on our feet. We look out the window and see the sky as it has been all our lives; another good day to get out there and stride forwards. Are we wrong? Maybe the question is wrong perhaps it should be this: Can we smell the sweetness in the air? When was the last time you tasted it on your lips?