The Tension of Not Knowing

Photo by Ivan Aleksic on Unsplash

I’m standing in the produce aisle, sifting through bunches of bananas, looking for that perfect shade of yellow-green. Too ripe, and they’ll turn brown before the week is out. Too green, and they’ll take days to be edible.

I give one a gentle squeeze, checking for just the right firmness, the way my doctor suggested when he started nudging me toward “better choices.” It’s such a small, ordinary thing — picking the right bananas, planning for the week ahead.

Around me, life hums along. A mother gently scolds her child for reaching too far into the apple bin. A man hums to himself as he bags oranges. A teenager in a store uniform spritzes the lettuce with water, eyes glazed over in boredom.

It’s all so normal. It feels normal. But it’s not.

Because beneath the fluorescent lights and neatly stacked rows of fruit, there’s a question pressing at the edges of my mind: Should we be leaving?

I can’t shake this feeling that something is shifting. Something is breaking.

We tell ourselves we’ll know when it’s time. But what if we don’t? What if we’re all just standing here, filling our carts, moving through our routines — until one day, it’s too late?

The Red Lines That Have Already Been Crossed