The Weight

Lawyers have an escape plan. The bait shop. The ski bum winter. The cupcake bakery. The vineyard. The trailer by the water.

We laugh about it at bar events. We don't laugh about it at 2 a.m.

Mine was a trailer by a marina. I'd quit and wash boats. One morning I'd open the door to that trailer and see a palm tree lit by a streetlight.

And at that moment, the universe would reveal itself to me.

What did I expect to see?

That the world would carry on without me. Not grudgingly. That it would be magnificent and grand and beautifully ordinary, all at once. The tide would come in whether or not I finished the document. The sun would come up whether or not I returned the call. Nothing would collapse because I put it down.

It took me years to notice that my dream of freedom was a dream of finally being allowed to stop holding up the world.

Somewhere along the way, we started believing that if we stop, everything stops. That the world is balanced on our shoulders, and the only way to set it down is to disappear to the edge of a dock where no one knows our name.

Here is the part I didn't understand. The world was already carrying on. I just never stopped long enough to watch it.

You don't need to quit your life to see it. You need about ninety seconds.

Tomorrow, watch something that has nothing to do with you. Let it go on without your help. Notice that it does.

I didn't have to leave my life to put the weight down. I only had to stop believing I was the one holding it.