Which Comes First

"I can't do this anymore."

That's the thought that lingers as I return my mug to the table in front of me. Outside, the sun burns with renewal. I know it does. I see it and even imagine myself getting up and moving toward it from the safety of my seat by the window.

I think I've been doing that for a good, long while now.

For how long, I can't really be sure. Long enough, I suppose, to know that, even in this state of depletion and defeat, I'll keep doing it... completely aware of my delusion.

I'll keep moving myself toward the warmth, the burning, the renewal.

Or, at least I'll try to.

All the while, I'll hope I'm wrong about imagining it; praying to someone else's god that the loan I've taken on determination really is strong enough to distort reality for me. The lie I'm willing into existence is that it'll keep burning bright enough—and long enough—to cover my debts and settle my doubts.

I have to believe it will. Because every time the words "I can't do this anymore" show up and start to descend like a bulbous layer of clouds, they burn off—proven wrong. I just... can't always remember which comes first.

So I reach for a poem I wrote to myself for times like these when my spark burns out.

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Our Daily MAP Year Prompt
205/365

What keeps you going when you don't feel like it? What do you reach for?

onward.

For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory here. And if you know someone who'd appreciate this, pass it along.