When I’m down to my last breath and everything around me is starting to look like a pale imitation of what it used to, I start to wonder I have anything left to push through. All the drive I once thought I had was simply a brief motivation that dwindled exponentially, deeming itself practically non-existent.
The Brick Wall—your Brick Wall has stopped me in the past as well. The Brick Wall is a very important thing, hence why the beginning letters of it’s title show true, justifying a certain amount of it’s own existence.
Make no mistake, it is very real.
It’s real because past the point of letting myself become curious about certain thoughts I seem to favor, showing someone something new that I’m interested in, and even chasing events that will eventually lead me back to this same brick wall, repainted and upholstered.
Recognizing its existence is important, but past the point of recognition deems the loss of how intimidating its starting letters should be. It deems them—not so capital any longer.
Time moves fast, right? Just a paragraph or two earlier the wall, the one holding me, was of the utmost importance. Now it’s just another pebble.
But it is still there. I know because I was there.
Whole stories, the trials, tribulations, and downfalls, are remembered through these pebbles.
Now that of which once was, is no longer as such; it still is, but only just.
I’d never want to lose my pebbles, something I assure myself of often. After all, they built the path I walk on now.
While the image is fresh in my mind, imagine a particular wall, bearing in your mind that they come often in variety packs like oatmeal or certain tea.
This one in particular is very simple in design, but the ones that deceive us the most always are, aren’t they?
Rain is pelting down upon an overcoat in the midst of a chilling night. Anxiety ramps as the people I can ask for help dwindle, one by one. It’s no longer a question of which option. It’s now a question of when the only option will tick its final seconds away, making the decision for you.
This wall, to me, is in a cavern; moss covered and weeds dangling from atop it, this wall is ancient, having collected water in and around the foundation. It’s well-constructed, laid stone for stone with little cracks in the seam. But there are cracks present.
It can be broken
But a point of hesitation arises. While my options have grown thin, my patient, yet pugnacious nature for the opportunity to overcome something with such a ferocity has given an option that, had I not had previous experience, would have thwarted.
These options, some simple and some complex, are the form of a sledge and wedge.
Brute force in a form of persisting onward reduces this wall to rubble, leaving pebbles to remember it’s difficulties by.
Why do I have these oddities?
The best answer that I, or anyone else I’ve heard talk about such things, have is that these walls channel us to where we need to be. Although conflicting and winding paths may lead me astray, it’s the challenge of the wall in and of itself that keep me sharp and ready for the next one.
I take notice that if no wall is present, the path is well-worn and likely not worth trailing down. All of the walls have been reduced and there’s no challenge for me here.
Press onward to the wall. Bring it down, too.