This will be my last post for a while. One discovers one’s limits by testing them. In doing so, one runs the risk of exceeding them.
Ours is a culture where failure is a character flaw and we only admire winners. If you don’t succeed it’s your own fault. You didn’t try hard enough. You’re lazy or incompetent. Losers deserve to be losers. So we push ourselves hard to succeed, terrified of being one of those poor sods that others look down upon in pity and contempt.
We struggle to climb that tree, clinging to the branches, pushing ourselves higher and higher while the branches get thinner, the wind howls, our fingers ache with fatigue, fear chokes us, but we see others around us climbing past us, yelling encouragement, “Come on, you can do it!” So we keep going.
And in the inspirational story of the winner, we applaud the heartwarming triumph of the hero achieving the top, with the attendant platitudes about struggling to overcome weakness, never giving up, believing in oneself.
This is not my story. In my story, the bough breaks.