one — foundations

It often isn’t the toughest decisions that define you. Or even the biggest ones. The most daunting ones. No; a snowball of little choices, insignificant choices, grows over time into an unstoppable force and before you know it you’ve been placed on a track in life which has only one direction — forward — and you’re left without a semblance of will, hopelessly pre-determined in a world you inherently cannot control, living a life that seems to no longer be in your hands. The hands that carry you cannot be defined. God or godlessness, in the end there’s no difference between two lives lived and two lives lost aside from the impact they’ve had on others. The final outcome for us all is the same, regardless of race, creed, religion. All the weight you spent your entire life carrying is gone, to you and to everyone, and the world indifferently continues to turn.

The little things in our lives, the little actions we take and the little things we say and the little friendships we maintain, make us who we are. Just as all physical things are composed of tiny elementary particles, all of the events in our lives are built up from even the tiniest of decisions, even the tiniest twitch of the thumb. And while we may think we have complete control over those insignificant choices, we can never be certain. The question is even more difficult when it comes to the monumental events and decisions of a person’s life that change it forever. In the face of happiness and uncertainty and pain, we continue living our lives as we see fit, whether we like the results or not. We continue marching along to the beat of a distant metronome that was set into motion long before we became aware of the sound of its ticking. The tempo may be too fast or too slow for our taste, but the melody doesn’t lose its beauty. It just might require a different perspective, or a different frame of reference, in order to understand and appreciate it.

Some find comfort in this and some fear it. Some lie on their backs between the camps of despair and hopefulness, between pigeon-holing definitions of optimism and pessimism, watching the clouds roll overhead. Why must everything in life take the form of rigid binary oppositions? Why must we conform to the ideas and ideals of the past when current thought, encompassing the accumulation of thoughts over thousands of years, has never been further from complete? We are evolving. All of us, all the time. Why do our physical bodies easily evolve without our conscious intervention, but our minds, with age, often harden into plaster casts of archaic theories with no hope of ever changing? Why does the mind require conscious intervention for evolution and change when the physical evolution of bodies cannot be stopped?

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