We all carry a backpack, one way or another. It might hold family burdens, work stress, or mental weight—sometimes filled with modern afflictions, like the need to pretend everything is fine and in order.
Other times, it’s loaded with ancient weights, like the desire to be perfect in an imperfect world.
In what we might call the seesaw of life, we carry the past on one end, which can weigh so heavily that it prevents the future from rising. It acts as a counterbalance, and in the middle, there’s the hinge of the present—bending back and forth under the subtle but steady weight of the years and circumstances.
Anyway, those burdens almost certainly weigh more on Mondays. Mysteries of the calendar. So here’s a thought: what if we let the backpack carry us for a change? After all, it seems to know where it’s going. Maybe, as mere passengers, we could find out what it feels like to float for a while.
