Unbearable Lightness of Being

Sometimes, life feels like trying to hold water in my cupped hands, spilling faster than I can catch it. There’s a tension in that, a strange pull between release and regret. The thought that everything is fleeting—that nothing I build or love or dream of will last—sits with me often. It’s not always a heavy thought. Sometimes it’s light, almost weightless, and yet, somehow, it presses down all the same.

If everything fades, does it matter? I ask myself this more than I probably should. But maybe the question is wrong, or maybe I’m just afraid of the answer. I wonder if we’ve been looking for meaning in the wrong places—in permanence, in legacies, in things that don’t move. What if it’s the movement itself that matters?

On certain days, the fleeting nature of life feels like a gift. Decisions don’t carry the same gravity; I let things go more easily. I can savor a moment without needing to trap it, knowing it’s meant to be brief. And yet, there’s this undercurrent, a kind of sadness I can’t quite place, like a song that stays with you long after it ends.

I think about love a lot. Not the grand, cinematic version but the quiet kind—the way someone’s laugh lingers in your mind or how a simple touch can steady you. I think about the ones I’ve lost or let slip away, and I wonder if I held them tightly enough. But then, isn’t that love’s nature? To be both everything and, eventually, nothing? Maybe that’s what makes it worth it, knowing it won’t last.

Still, the thought sneaks in during the quiet moments, uninvited: This won’t last. None of it. Not all of the time is it consoling. At times, it can be catastrophic, akin to an unexpected wave. Sometimes, though, it serves as a reminder to pay attention. should begin appreciating what already exists rather than striving for permanency.

Leaning into the lightness instead of fighting it might be the secret. to allow it to impart knowledge to me about living life to the fullest, even when nothing remains. I want to think that's sufficient, that this transience is a quality rather than a fault.

And so, I carry it. Not as a burden but as something fragile and fleeting, something I can hold for just a moment before it slips away. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe the unbearable lightness isn’t unbearable at all. Maybe it’s the only way to truly see.

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