My taking care of my parents, that quest I was always going to lose,  was a triumph of just one thing.


Everyday, through sheer force of will, I got up and threw myself into challenges I never would have attempted if they were offered to me objectively.   I broke my own boundaries, my own spirit and my own body just to get done the work that had to be done.   Love and duty?   They demand willpower.

Andy Rooney said that he missed World War II.  He liked the sense of everyone pulling together to achieve a goal.  It seemed right and harmonious to him.

There is a real joy in pushing limits and creating triumph, sure.

But how many people were broken by that war, how many people expended all of their will and never came back?  The people who ended up in graves certainly were broken, and maybe the ones to ended in hospital.  But the full extent of people who shot their will and ended up shattered, well, I suspect we can never really know how many millions that is.

I was in the doctor’s exam room by myself for a good twenty minutes yesterday.  And all that time, I just wanted to bolt.  Too many memories, too much stress.  It just required so much willpower for me.

In the end, the challenge was pointless.  He eliminated a few possibilities but doesn’t know what is causing the continuous and draining pain in my feet, and certainly can’t treat it.  Take some NSAID and come back in six months.  Good luck.

I know how much willpower is a requirement of everyday living.

I also know how little willpower I have left.

Is that related to a lack of shared mission?  Maybe.

Is that related to not yet being able to let go of a mighty experience?  Maybe.

Is that related to an absence of momentum?  Maybe.

Is that related to me just being plumb wore out, shattered and broken?  Maybe.

But I know that willpower is the only solution.

And I know that my tank is dry.