My life feels fraught with tension these days.
If I was a city, what isn’t but ought would be staging non-stop riots against what actually is but shouldn’t. And in that city, the government big-wigs spend their hours forcing the What-Oughts to seize property from the What-Shouldn’ts.
But I’m not a city. Just a writer for the first time in a month. A runner with a dusty treadmill stuck in our bathroom corner. An ankle deep member of a dozen worlds and owner of none.
Maybe to be human is to live in the tension of an unresolved story. We writhe and wrestle with the screwy imperfections of our lives, yet we still hope for improbable grace. We hope tension is just beauty in the intermission or, better yet, the proof that a story is happening right now.
photo credit: my cool wife