We all struggle at some point in our lives to figure out who
we are and who we want to be. We spend countless hours shaping that ideal image
and even more maintaining it. I’m not talking about a physical image, I’m
talking about what it is that we all do to give our lives meaning.
Doctors spend years studying and practicing to learn their
craft. Mechanics tediously learn the intricacies of the inside of a car. We all
put effort into our goals whatever they may be.
And then…something happens to disrupt the focus you place on
yourself. Something catastrophic in your personal universe. You realize how
unimportant so much of your life is. You had always envisioned yourself as a
cog in this machine that runs the world, but when a gear close to you stops
working and the world keeps moving, you realize how insignificant as individuals
we really are.
We like to believe that our presence in the world makes a
difference. We have to believe that so our lives have meaning and we’re not
just spinning our wheels.
But then…
This event happens and you think how selfish you are. How
it’s ridiculous that you spend hours a week keeping the house tidy or fretting if
you have time for a run. All those wasted hours spent on insignificant
things—things that will be there tomorrow.
You start to evaluate everything you do. Is it really
necessary for me to train for a marathon? What point is there in writing if it
never publishes? What point is there if it does?
You put your life on pause to deal with this event. You’re grateful for the borrowed
time you have and mystified how the world can keep moving when you feel like
your feet have been cast in concrete. You continue to function on an “as
needed” basis doing all the things you have to do to keep your kids and pets
alive and happy.
Inside, the person who you worked so hard to become begins
to atrophy. You question the point of everything. Why have I spent so many
hours working on my craft? Why do I bother cleaning the floors every day when
they just get dirty again?
The gear that represents you is faltering, but the machine
still works. You actually don’t make as much of a difference in the world as
you thought.
You look at what’s going on around the world—at the division
within our own country—and ask what difference one person really makes.
As part of the collective population, you are insignificant,
but that’s how a group is supposed to work. Each individual has a task, but
they are replaceable within the group. Hence: teamwork.
However, from an individual perspective, the cog that was
taken away from the machine too early in life is irreplaceable. But still…the
machine still works—despite your feelings.
One person’s absence affects the gears that surround them.
Each of those gears falter…stutter. They keep turning with jagged movements
until they learn how to move without the broken gear. Soon, they’ll begin to
spin smoothly again, happily performing their job because together we work
better and keep each other afloat.
Just like we as individuals will learn to move on and
continue working on ourselves and on our community despite missing a gear—a person.
We are survivors. When we heal we gain back the muscle that atrophied. We adapt
to our new reality and persevere. We work on our craft because, despite missing
an integral part of our machine, there are so many other reasons to keep that
machine running.
My life is stuck right now, in the stuttered periphery of a stolen
gear. I have to relearn how to run smoothly again—how to enjoy my role in the
machine that keeps everything going. It will happen because the gears that
surround me keep churning, helping me through my stutter.
