And the World Spins Madly On
I watch the stars from my window sill
The whole world is moving and I'm standing still
The night is here and the day is gone
And the world spins madly on
—The Weepies, World Spins Madly On
When you get the call or learn the truth or have the conversation and things feel like they’re falling apart, there are people you turn to who will hold you up and bring you coffee and make you laugh and let you cry.
But when the crumbling continues after the urgent part passes, it can feel strange and selfish to keep needing help.
And so we convince ourselves we don’t need the help and our world gets smaller and smaller while still spinning madly on. We do the things to stay alive, to be grown ups, to pay the bills on time.
But in the house, we are shells.
I trust you can relate. I wish it weren’t so.
What do we do when the crisis isn’t obvious or clear or public? When the help we need feels as desperate as a house fire but is less understood and also not our story to tell? What do we do when it is no longer a tsunami, exactly, but has somehow formed unwanted lakes and rivers where land used to be, disrupting the rhythms of our daily life?
I can think of a few things.
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