On a whiteboard in a library with no books, this is written.
“Welcome to the Gulag”
One passes by with a second glance, a chuckle, and on they stroll, oblivious to the meaning.
The library is the grinder, eating up doubt. Chipping away imposter syndrome one “I don’t know how…” at a time. Here one makes the choice to thrive in a place where many merely survive.
Nothing bonds a people like a common enemy. Disregarding, dismissing, denial – destruction and downfall rely upon this mistreatment from on high. These are the cracks in the foundation, where the breath of humanity seeps in. The pressure squeezing, the shoulders squaring in spite, forcing room to live in the unlivable.
The gulag is where we find “the space between” – that moment of peace residing in our mind, bookended by that which seeks to impose upon us and be imposed. It arrives in chaos, and exits in calm.
The underbelly of our experience is struggle – one chosen or imposed by failure to choose.
What is the struggle you have chosen? Fit in, stand out. Keep silent, speak up. To quit or persevere.
tick-tock…
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