The river runs down stream because it always has and always will, maybe. And along it, the masses throw each other bon voyage parties and we help each other down in to boats, lined with accoutrements for the trip and we will only stop for babies and anniversary celebrations and new homes and maybe promotions if there is room beside us after all the other luggage is added. So we line up, and advance, pulled by the force of the one before us and the one before her.
Because how much harder would it be to turn and walk away from what is bequeathed to us all before we can ever be sure if it suits us. Or not.
So maybe we play along and we don’t understand for all those hours and hours that this is our life. This is the span and depth and richness of our entire life. This is the sustenance and the taste, the feel of 16 hours and how they roll over on to themselves, barely changing. These are the expectations that weigh on you and what you are allowed to expect in return. This is what is reasonable. That part is important to understand. This is how grateful you must be for your lovely country home and your faithful partner and your son. These are the miles you are allowed to wander. And the conversations you may have and the time that will be left for just you. The safe confines of time like a leash that unravels no further than you are permitted to travel. This is what you are allowed to want.
