Difficult, Impossible Things

There’s a way in which we talk about difficult, impossible things that’s unmistakable. That features a contradiction between the content of our words and our tone of voice and our energy.

These difficult, impossible things are almost mentioned in passing. In a manner that one would discuss the weather while talking with a lightly known acquaintance to stave off an uncomfortable silence.

Maybe we discuss difficult, impossible things this way because to do anything else would crush us. Because we fear being swallowed whole. Because we’re trying to distance ourselves from these difficult, impossible things. Maybe it’s because we don’t want to go back to that place but we have to remember just for a second. It’s a second spent acknowledging that the only thing worse than remembering is forgetting.

Perhaps it’s a way of accepting that these things will never totally leave us. They may hibernate for a while; they may eventually occupy a different place in our minds. But they’re never gone. Difficult, impossible things possess a daunting amount of resiliency.

Perhaps it’s a nod to our humanity. A way of cutting ourselves a break.

Or maybe we’re just denying the reality of our situation. It’s hard to fault anyone for denying the reality of certain situations.

I don’t know why we sometimes talk about difficult, impossible things this way. I don’t think there’s an answer. I think, sometimes, it’s just about making it through another day. Or another hour. Or another five minutes. Difficult, impossible things can turn the experience of being alive into an exercise in survival more than anything else.

I suppose we shouldn’t try to make sense of everything. We survive these difficult, impossible things the best way we know how. It’s far from perfect, but life doesn’t demand perfection. It only demands that we keep trying.