Kryptonite

Born or perhaps just raised with a strong sense of responsibility, being protector and provider are second nature to me, it's where I have always fit, the place I stand instinctually. In long past love affairs, I have been accused by those who perhaps know me better than I do of myself, as having been susceptible to the failings associated with white knight syndrome. And when a relationship has ended, I have always signed over all material belongings, for regardless of what brought the relationship to an end, my need to fill the provider role even as we were parting, remained. During those times I have never found any sway to the argument that my concerned friends and family have typically offered that were centered around fairness, or in some circumstances, that the other was undeserving. I have never feared walking away with empty pockets, as my unshakeable belief has been that I will always be capable of starting again, of being resourceful, of having the means and capabilities to earn a wage. And with every new start, I’ve felt unencumbered, free of ties, and free of any guilt that might be associated with reneging on a promise.

Recently I became sick, so sick that I couldn’t work, and without a firm diagnosis, for the first time in my life I had to consider how many days I had left before my pay would stop. My unshakeable faith in my ability to always ensure that money would come in was suddenly turned on its head, for I realized that no matter the years of investment that I had made to ensure that I would remain marketable, such self-reliance comes with a requirement to have an immunity to the forces of nature. As a studier of philosophy, I’ve contemplated the end of life, perhaps with more intention than most, but as astounding as it now seems to me, I had never considered my own fallibility, the fact that one day suddenly and unexpectedly I could be handed my kryptonite, forcing an end to a sure thing.

I’m at an age where I have had many losses, relatives that have all passed after living full lives, but these were lives that were not stolen, they were lives that like all things must eventually come to an end, and perhaps it is this experience that provides my excuse for not considering a shackled existence.

As anyone who rides a motorcycle, engages in risky sports or has had a near miss as they have driven the highway, the thought of becoming permanently incapacitated must, if only fleetingly, enter our thoughts. Yet despite this possibility most of us will continue to get on that bike, prepare for our next high-risk adventure, or go just a little faster than the highway limit allows; all of which leads me to the belief that the invincible child still lives somewhere deep down in most of us.

I am now back to work, recovering physically, but the experience has me questioning so many things. If I can no longer with certainty guarantee that I will always be strong, who am I without the suit of armor and the white steed, what is my worth if I have to give up my seat at the round table? I imagine a person who carries with them a small, sealed box, and in it a genie who will grant a single wish. The person spends their life knowing that no matter what ordeal they will face, that if the worse was ever to come, all will be made right with the use of the wish. With this knowledge, they can act with bravery, and wanting to hold on to that wish for when that one insurmountable moment arrives, the person keeps the box closed and learns to draw on their own strength to overcome each hardship. Then one day, a mishap causes the box to fall open, and inside is nothing, no genie, no wish.