In recent times, my gut reacts with discontent to the introduction of milk, in a way it did not five years ago. It serves as a personal marker for the turn of the years in just the same way reality prickles my mind, like a pin lost in a pocket without a safety cap, when an advertised programme catches my attention and I scroll down to see the age limit. In those moments, I am reminded of the burden of unrealized potential and the finite nature of our existence.
I imagine there are others like me, for whom the end of one year and the beginning of another, or a birthday, which in themselves mark the end of an annual period and the commencement of another, serve as markers for what is to come, and a thoroughfare to contemplation. In those same moments that merriment seem ubiquitous, we are welded to thoughts of the things that were and the ones that could have been, being irresistibly courted more by the latter than the former. Our ears ring with the refrains of familial excitement and prodding to focus on the things that are and live in the moment. We seldom imagine that they are right and attempt to tow the path of the sensuous but meet with inward struggles for which we are fated to two options: go with the flow or retreat into self.
Perhaps often, to save the blushes of those dear to us, we borrow their garments of excitement, and may indeed even find ourselves lured to the brink of elation, and all is well with the world, or so it seems. In few instances, we choose the least applauded option of openly tending to our thoughts and live out our preference for muted expressions. Either way, a party of the whole or the sole suffers some disquiet, and harmony whether internal or external is threatened.
Choosing to be the party of the sole in times when the whole is convivial can be tough for either side, maybe even more for the party of the sole. Beyond risking the disaffection of those who care, and who one should indeed endeavour to keep onside for varied reasons, the party of the sole who dwells in the place of contemplation longer than is socially approved, will likely contend with internal dialogues in diverse ways. Religious epithets that mandate continual rejoicing may be innocently offered along those that suggest failing to do so borders on sin. A party of the sole with reverence for these epithets may then struggle between allowing the process of contemplation exhaust itself and acting as though it were a flimsy reality to be discarded at will. Neither option comes easy, it would appear. Attempting to force excitement can be short-lived and finding joy based on religious mandates requires practice.
Thinking about life does not stop life from happening, no matter the intensity applied. Same way a car does not go in the direction we will it to without us steering it in the desired direction. Even when we steer, there may be circumstances that necessitate a pause or detour. It is okay to give thought to these circumstances without letting them cloud the vision of the destination. Those who are constantly excited about special days or any day at all are not any less noble than those who, on such days, find themselves irretrievably joined to numbing thoughts about their pace just as the latter commits no sin by being so wired. Something may be said for requiring medical interventions to live less as a party of the sole but that can only be assessed on an individual basis.
Overall, life is a journey with different refreshment points designated for individuals. So, it may help when we come upon our party of the sole moments, especially in-between beginnings and endings, to remember that our refuel stops and perhaps energy sources are different but if we all keep our eyes fixed on the road, both the party of the whole and the party of the sole will ultimately find meeting points.
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