Chin up. Stiff upper lip. Dignity. Being a man. Being professional. Smile. Gratitude. There’s no problem a sunny attitude towards life cannot take away. Not one.
Not even when sometimes things seem to be coming apart at the seams.
Day after day after day. One after the other.
Keep your chin up. Even when every next case is to be dealt with a kind of trepidation you are just not used to living with.
Stiff upper lip. When you say, what now? Oh no, not again. While you smile outwardly, not just pretend to be joyous, but be joyous, while cocooning just that bit more inside, when even your closest have no idea of the multitude of leaks in this ship of yours.
That extra effort. That its-ok-there’s-nothing-you-could-have-done-differently. That-happens. That-just-a-bad-day. No worry. All a learning curve. Just a bad day.
The busiest persons are the laziest ones. The happiest persons are the ones who accept what happens with joy and gratitude and acceptance and shrug off the bad days while soaking in the lessons they brought in. Until the drip drip drip causes the tap to run dry and the more you make sense of it the more things stop making sense, one day at a time. Until the pile of thread you are slowly pulling to unravel the seams threatens to strangle you drown you bury you in something you didnt see coming. Because you were too busy being happy. Until knowing everything and doing everything according to the recipe but the recipe turned out to be of a dish that is barely edible. But then how come everyone is cooking such sumptuous feasts with the same recipe? Is the fault with the recipe or the chef? Its the recipe. Tweak. Tweak. Tweak. Its the chef. Tweak. Tweak. Tweak.
Yet. Nothing. Nothing at all.
All decisions in the past. Stacked up like pins, falling wiped off, stacked back up painstakingly till another ball comes along and its a striiiiiike. Go pick the pins again. Line them up again. Stare at every decision you made and make and will make in the future until you are gripped by an inescapable paralysis, rendered utterly incapable of trusting even a single one. Losing that one attitude that picks you above all others, that confidence that carries you through – i can take it and come out on the other side. But there’s no one to carry me but dont men carry themselves past the finish line but the finish line was just here oh its no longer here oh its only a scrape on the knees pick up the weight and run again there’s no one else just you.
Fear. Walk. Smile. Laugh. Fear again. Fear some more. And some more. Yet brave it out. But no, there’s it. The fear. Staring right into your eyes. Below the drain like pennywise, waiting to pounce at the slightest of moments of weakness or inattention.
Write every fear out. Take every decision and turn it around, invert it flip it rip it tear it do what it takes. Unmake everything which brings out that fear. Fucking pull the seams till there’s nothing left of you but tiny atoms of nothingness which can be moulded into whatever they need to be.
Just go away and leave me alone.