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.