A man’s quarrel is with himself Ⅱ

I’ve always believed one should give more than he takes. If you believe you deserve more, you must first demand more of yourself.

But what then when there is nothing left to give? What comes after? What then when they have taken all they can? When they have squeezed you dry?

Against the odds. These unrelenting forces so seemingly against us. Much has been demanded. The near impossible, and my body has delivered as best it could. Recognizing this I remain kind towards it. Grateful for all its given. Much has been overcome. More than they know.

“Every day is a new day. It is better to be lucky. But I would rather be exact. Then when luck comes you are ready.” — Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

And I was. As exact as I’ve ever been. But the luck never came for man has no luck; only himself.

There are many questions and few certainties. The last time could have been the last time. As is always the case. Now there remains the torturous wait.

I lay awake tonight knowing I will once again have to draw from those deep wells of resolve. One can only hope they have yet to run dry.