When I was very young, someone prophesied over me: You shall be like a pillar, strong enough to support a building, and when the building shakes, even should other pillars weaken and break, you will remain strong enough to keep the structure stable.

If the prophet could have glimpsed an image of me in the future––doped up on anti-depressants, splayed in the middle of a public park, being coaxed to my feet by a confused eight year old––the prophet might have questioned the accuracy of his spiritual radar.

I’m a bit more stable now.

I suppose every person is a strong pillar, in their proper context. You recognize it when you see it: a human in their sweet spot.

The word that circles my brain is gravity. No one needs to exert themselves to remain attached to the earth. An earthling is bound to the earth, just as a teacher is bound to teach, a writer to write, a fixer to fix, a counselor to console.
If the prophet was right, if I am a strong pillar, it has little to do with me. It’s just gravity, fixing me to the place I’m meant to be.

My role is simple: don’t fight gravity.
I’ve wasted a lot of energy through the years, jumping about, flapping my arms as though they were wings, wishing I were more eagle than human. It’s exhausting. It’s time to embrace my earthbound existence. And why not? It’s rather beautiful down here.