I'm fairy certain it's time for a move - to the Sahara maybe. Because it seems to me I've been marching in the Amazon. How else could have I gotten into a lifestyle where it seems at every turn something new is raining on my parade? I thought perhaps a move to Sahara would mean I would always have the sun shining down. And then it occurred to me:
Either way, I'm still marching.
It could rain...if I didn't have to march. And the sun could scorch my eyes out if I didn't have to march. And I could freeze to death in the Antartic tundra...if I didn't have to march. But there's the catch. Because life goes on with and without the permission of the storms of life.
It's raining now. Real rain - not just my metaphorical Amazon. For a moment, I considered how much I would love to puddle jump. To rejoice in the rain. And then I remembered my boot...my stupid broken foot. No puddle jumping for me.
It's strange how puddle jumping would have acted my way into a totally new perspective - thought and feeling - on rain.
It's stranger that, try as I might, I having a very hard time thinking myself into a new way of feeling. And it's harder knowing that even though I can smile genuinely at the spring rains - that doesn't change the circumstances of my actions. Why is it hard to make the transaction without the actions? Unless there is another way to rejoice in the rain...
There has to be another way to act. Because regardless of the rain, and regardless of a broken foot, I have no choice but to continue to march. "Life" really can't define me anymore. Life and my constant and stupid rained-out parade is not quite the end of the world.
1 comment:
still hard to march with a broken foot.
but march on, dear friend, march on, and i will march along.
(can I play the drums in our marching band?)
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