What a strange thing it is to live, what a precarious endeavour.
Because life is so razor thin. And we forget it is. We tend to look forward or back, but we rarely look over the sides even though the sides are just a moment’s width away at all times.
Maybe because the drop-off is so immediate and steep, so…complete that it’s frightening. It’s frightening to stop and look over the edge because what greets us is the abyss. And so we pretend the edge isn’t as close as it is.
And, I suppose, when we’re in the thick of it we also forget. The thick of the day to day. Of taking out the dog, of picking up the kids, of peeling the potatoes, of taking out the bins. Or whatever your version of the day to day is. It can feel so samey, maybe even mundane and unchanging. Thick with continuity, not razor thin.
But then every once in a while something happens which reminds us how thin it is.
A piece of news about someone’s health or a phone call to say your dad’s dead. Sorry what, say that again?
Ah yes, right, because life is razor thin. The thick and samey, maybe even mundane and unchanging was merely the illusion of continuity.
And really, it could all change or end in any moment. Just a moment’s width. And we all know it. But we don’t like to stop and look unless something makes us do it.
One phone call, one text, one doctor’s test. That’s all it takes, or even less.
But I don’t write this to disturb or depress.
The opposite actually.
I write it as a reminder to count every blessing, every single one, even taking out the bins. Because life—this magnificent, munificent, precarious and strange thing… is also all so razor thin.
With love, Jake xx
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