What is sanity?
Is it to tether on the edge of consciousness, leaving only crumbs to decorate my footsteps, following the imposed rules and regulations one by one, until my soul dies a slow and quiet death?
Is it to close my eyes when they nudge me to open, to see the vastness in all its frightening entirety and not look away until I’ve realised its implication, running the risk of drowning in infinity?
Is it to think, in the face of all this pain, grand human egos, immense suffering and vicious cycles playing on repeat, that I should be kind, as kind as can be, and that living by this alone will actually make a tiny bit of difference?
Is it to have faith, despite all apparent evidence to the contrary, that my life, my being here, my existence, has meaning, treating it like a precious stone that may at any moment drop into the ocean, never to be found again?
Is it to marvel at the brevity of a life; any life, and to remind myself of our kinship rather than our differences every day, so that I don’t add fuel to the stream of harsh words, petty mean-ness, and me-first attitude that can be ever-too-present in human interactions?
Is it to know, as were it carved gently into my bones, that as long as the choice is borne out of love, it doesn’t matter much what I choose to do for a living, whether I paint, teach, sing, write, clean, type, cook, serve or sell things, as long as I do it kindly?
Or is it to dismiss the whispers of change, the voice urging me to heed the call despite the disbelieving stares of the obedient masses, beating it down into its box again, labelled rather amusingly ‘Mid-life Crisis Material: Open At Own Risk – The Universe Bears No Responsibility For Any Frightening Actions Incurred.’