“Life is a constant struggle”, my grandfather told me when I
was 8 years old. I have no idea what he meant exactly, but the phrase has been
hanging over my head like the blade of a guillotine ever since. I am not
allowed to forget its existence or it will fall on my neck. The problem is, I
could never figure out what it was I was supposed to struggle for.
The Greek word he used, “αγώνας”, is also used for
sports. Therefore, I assumed that life according to my grandfather was a
football match, where you run up and down a field, chasing a ball and some
people are on your team and others are against you and you could be running up
and down the field all your life and never score a goal. Now, in my mid
thirties, I am slowly coming to the terrifying realization that not only can
this football match be completely pointless, but it can also turn out to be utterly
and mercilessly boring.
I’m bored of seeing me running up and down a football field
and I’m so very bored of being in the game. I don’t want my life to be a
constant struggle. I want it to be a long walk across the world with the man I
love. Or at the very least, a walk around the block with someone who can keep me stimulated.
“You can’t always get what you want” Mick said, but I wasn’t listening.
