January 25
The same wound that banished him, alone, to the island becomes in the end the instrument of his glory. What held him back opens the way for him.
Philoctetes (freely rendered)
Listening mode
The same wound that banished him, alone, to the island becomes in the end the instrument of his glory. What held him back opens the way for him.
Sometimes what is asked of you is precisely the thing that kept you apart for so long. A sensitivity that made crowded rooms hard for you suddenly lets you notice things that escape others. A slowness you often apologized for is all at once taken for thoroughness. Someone comes along who needs exactly that.
It is a relief, but not an entirely simple one. The years when it was only a hindrance don't become meaningful in retrospect. Whoever tells you now that it was worth it after all is telling a story whose ending they know and whose middle they never lived through.
There is a second difficulty as well. As soon as this trait of yours is useful, it is also expected. You are then the person who looks closely, who doesn't push, who hears what goes unsaid. On a day when you would simply like to laugh along and notice nothing, people notice.
Perhaps you once wished you could be rid of this trait. Now it has been given a place where others are glad to see it. Whether it is still the same one that made you so alone back then, you don't quite know.
