So the grind is still on. I’ve still got my head and shoulders down, legs driving, spit and sweat dripping off my face as I struggle against the mountainous load in front of me.
Every inch, every step, is a lifetime of struggle. Every breath feels like the last.
For every victory there are ten failures, but that’s the struggle. The wheel I’m pushing isn’t a load of work. It isn’t an amount of writing on a keyboard. It isn’t getting up at 4 a.m. It isn’t raising a daughter or being a husband.
That’s all gravy.
This cold, heartless, enormous wheel that I push and grind and struggle and fight against is my attitude.
My attitude is the hardest thing to control and is the greatest betrayer of my immaturity. It sways in the wind, picking up the slightest breeze. Sometimes it’s so sensitive I think it has a life all its own, fleeting, moving, swaying at its own whim. It often feels like I have no control over it at all. In fact, the times where I feel in control are as fleeting as smoke.
I’ve been caught off guard by this. All the sayings, platitudes and proverbs about attitude have only caused me to drop my guard concerning it. Maybe it was all the rhyming?
Be that as it may, my attitude has become my greatest adversary. And that’s a shame, because it is quite powerful. It’s the most powerful foe I’ve faced yet.
Yet for that reason the prospect of convincing it to join my team (at least for longer stretches of time) is all the more necessary.
Already I’m bloody, bruised, out of breath and scarred by this primal battle of will and attitude. The flesh on my shoulders is in tatters, raw and worn. My clothes are stained and ripped. My knuckles are raw and calloused from all the fighting.
But what if my attitude was on my side and together we could tackle the world? That’s an idea to hold on to. Maybe it could even change my attitude.