Today I finally gathered up my courage and braved the dorm's laundry machines, loading in my clothes and praying that all the buttons I changed wouldn't result in any damage to my clothes. Two hours later I found myself carrying my newly washed and semi-dry clothes back up to my room.
The clothes seemed heavier on the way back than they had before and the entire time I was climbing the stairs to my floor I kept picturing myself one of those ants in National Geographic - the kind photographed carrying a leaf heavier than its own body weight. My weight was no leaf. And I am no ant. Why then did the image bother me so much?
I sometimes fear I'm a shallow person more interested in the superficial and the material than the durable and important truths of life. Now I'm not really sure what matters. My shirts and pants are all variations on a theme. Same things, different colors. And it doesn't even seem to matter.
I think I carry too much weight sometimes. The weight of worry is a heavy burden. I've come to the point where the voice in my head that worries about appearances and the superficial has been silence, or else ignored. Something tells me this is a good thing even as I struggle to get past the dirty truth.
I am no ant, no eater of leaves.
The clothes seemed heavier on the way back than they had before and the entire time I was climbing the stairs to my floor I kept picturing myself one of those ants in National Geographic - the kind photographed carrying a leaf heavier than its own body weight. My weight was no leaf. And I am no ant. Why then did the image bother me so much?
I sometimes fear I'm a shallow person more interested in the superficial and the material than the durable and important truths of life. Now I'm not really sure what matters. My shirts and pants are all variations on a theme. Same things, different colors. And it doesn't even seem to matter.
I think I carry too much weight sometimes. The weight of worry is a heavy burden. I've come to the point where the voice in my head that worries about appearances and the superficial has been silence, or else ignored. Something tells me this is a good thing even as I struggle to get past the dirty truth.
I am no ant, no eater of leaves.
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