What is this resignation I detect among those I know?
Does it connect to the overwhelming sense of precarity that seems to me to be so widespread?
While awaiting the seemingly inevitable loss of basic human necessities and the means to procure them, so many do little to nothing to prepare. Nor do they even dance in the streets and make it rain with their last remaining wealth.
Everyone seems to be waiting for someone else to do it for them. As if a purely external actor or force or event will make life interesting and worthwhile once again and reignite their creativity when it’s always been internal, smoldering and waiting for them to breathe life into the embers.
Our flames aren’t born of lightning strikes. They are only kindled slowly within by ourselves.