hang on there

The feeling of quicksand isn’t a new sensation for everyone. Slipping feet first into a situation and slowly recognizing the faults of one’s impulsiveness is an unfortunate, yet common practice. Why are decisions so hasty? Was it eagerness and raw excitement that could not be contained? Or was there fear that contending principals might lead one to stray into a pattern of circular distress; never formulating a decision? It’s easier to ask for help than to tough it out and acknowledge one’s own mistake, and with quicksand, it forces you to understand why.

The deception of the sand makes it all the more hurtful in one’s decision process. There is comfort in snap decisions, they are backed with anticipation and the possibility of grandeur. The path is easy to continue on blindly. Walking swiftly along, with confident, strong strides, they are falsely mistaken, and within an instance, dread and the gritty substance can slowly consume you. Hoping to remedy the situation, you start to squirm. It only makes you sink further. You feel you’ll never escape the dirt and dust which only hastens the agony.

We are often too proud, too modest, and far too dignified to announce when we need help. Oftentimes we are too busy to recognize when a situation is beyond repair and wait for the last thread of a string to fray before binding it with tape. The idea of burdening others with our misfortunes not only seems counterproductive, but heedless. Yet amongst the unspoken, shared notion to protect one's honor, thoughtful people are more than willing to assist. It’s not offered out of charity or an act of dominance, but for displays of encouragement and learning. When we do not have friends, family, and acquaintances to turn towards in moments of vulnerability, who will lend a hand when we aren’t willing to ask? The invisible hand dictates that society benefits when people act in self-interest, yet we neglect the individuals who aren’t able to be pulled out from the quicksand by this power.

The continual drag of the sand now leaves you with but a foot of atmosphere left. You no longer can grab onto nearby trees and plants, whose artificial sturdiness sent you sinking further into oblivion. The final decision is an obvious one, sink or swim. We sink beneath our own anguish and volition, unwilling to break out from our facade of strong pride. However attractive it is to sink, the swim option proves equally frightening. Vulnerability, raw honesty, and the pure fear of feeling incapable will let the quicksand win. Our world and lives are far too precious to let the appearance of weakness cloud our decisions. The extension of a hand in times of distress does not exemplify our helplessness, it procures strength and the beauty of our existence within the daunting, messy world we live in.