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  • Writer's pictureSherise Schlaht


It has been so long (one year to be exact) that there is wonder if I have forgotten how to write. Still, there has been a yearning, a longing to return to the sanctity that is the written space. Nothing else elicits this connected knowing. Initially a microscopic dive into ordinary happenings, yet when inquisition is applied, an expansive revelation emerges. This is the awe, the enchantment, the allure of the creative.

The psyche is remarkably adept at perceiving its environment. Week two of reduced demands and there is detection of subtle tugging, urgings to move inwards. Today the path inwards feels like sinking into quicksand, a gradual progression into the depths. In this literary quicksand, a calm surrender is present. The mind interrupts, logic asserting that quicksand encounters are typically riddled with panic. Scanning for panic, there is none to be found. Butt-out mind, this is my narrative. Can I not have a moment of peace in here?

Flow has now been derailed. Perhaps this concentration deficit is the squeaky chain on the bicycle that has been sitting in storage all winter, still awaiting its tune up mid-June.

Given this example, I am convinced that most adult hominoids (or at least the ones that I know), are masochistic in nature. Why is it that the activities from which we derive the most fulfillment are the first to be dropped when life demands increase? I have a sneaking suspicion that these endeavours often conflict with sociocultural constructs of maturity and responsibility. To be an upstanding citizen in a generally homogenous, developed western nation, a certain level of misery, struggle, and overall life dissatisfaction are the golden standard. True success cannot derive from enjoyment or play, especially since these engagements are rarely lucrative. I would like to bring attention to the correlation between that from which we derive satisfaction and the lack of monetary value inherently possessed.

I am a thirty-four-year-old, spoiled, and lazy Millennial, so what do I know? In all seriousness, I do appreciate and promote work ethic, accountability, and dependability. The underlying assertion that people are only as valuable as what they contribute is not a belief I subscribe to. Cultures that are predicated on a “not enough” mindset demand an unremitting proving of oneself. In this world, the “enough” benchmark is a moving subjective target, often held by those of unprecedented power. Here, one’s worth can be stripped instantaneously, necessitating no objective explanation.

The inequity and unpredictability of such environments provoke both an inner fragility and ferocity too painful to ignore. For these reasons, I fight for room in this world to operate as a flawed, yet fundamentally valuable human being. This fight is partially motivated by my own egoic need to belong, but the broader hope is that others find resonance. To my fellow freedom fighters, know I am with you. We may never meet, but in spirit and impact we are one.

To whomever may benefit from this, I hope it finds you well. Virtual hugs,


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