I think it’s going to be alright
~ circle of life, the square corner we keep turning, putting square pegs into round holes, and fence post fixes, between Mondays and Sundays and repeat, repeat, repeat ...
Mornings remind us: the sun doesn’t negotiate with us.
It burns, it rises, it shows up.
But what about us?
Do we turn our corners, or do we stall at the bend, do we hesitate before turning each unexplored corner, or do we put up our hand and venture forward?
DId we turn the corner yet?
This morning, the sky over Calgary was inky black when I woke (4C …); birds made noise, traffic hummed softly in the distance, and now it’s in rush-hour mode, but before all that, in the dark, over the horizon I could not see, a burning ball was soon to arrive.
We don’t understand the sun, but it is a certainty we trust without questioning it when we put yesterday to bed. As I began writing this note to you, the horizon delivered more light, less darkness - evidence our sun survived the night.
Scientists say our star is a 4.6-billion-year-old furnace, a constant mystery even to experts. I look in the mirror and see a face that shows signs of wear and tear, but is prepared for long-term survival.
I barely grasp an understanding of myself; how could I ever claim to fully understand anyone else? Some things are always questionable, and some just need to be trusted, like believing the sun will rise … again, and again.
That doesn’t stop us from trying.
It doesn’t stop us from needing to learn, to find answers.
And when the darkness lingers, the question is simple: When or where did we already turn a corner we didn’t notice ourselves turning?
I think we lean on metaphors because the totality of our reality is often too jagged to explain directly in a single page summary, much less in a simple distilled answer to the question: so, how is it going, dealing with ‘all that’?
Turning a corner isn’t about streets or spreadsheets. It’s about passing through the pinch-point of life’s hourglass. We can’t ignore what can’t be ignored.
The grains fall, the glass narrows, and suddenly we’re through the tight tough stuff and we’re a piled-up collection of grains of sand again on the other side.
Paul Simon and Bruce Woodley called it a “Red Rubber Ball.”
The day is new, trouble is behind, and resilience bounces back whether we deserve it or not.
So, what to do today?
One small move. Advance something that matters; send the note, finish the draft, take the walk, make the call. The act itself is the corner.
We don’t need a full understanding.
We need motion. And e-motion is always motion’s companion.
Even in the half-dark, forward is the only direction that counts.
