To be honest with you, most days I feel as though I wake up at a deficit--not enough energy, not enough intelligence, not enough resourcefulness, not enough resilience, not enough cleverness or speed or dexterity or divinity to get through the day. I mean, yes, of course, I survive the day--we all do until we don't--but I'm not sure I *live* the day. I find, more and more, I'm slogging through the days hoping to get enough of them behind me to feel as though I've traveled somewhere--like blindly climbing those last two miles to the peak of a mountain. It's impossibly hard, you're impossibly tired, but you have faith that--even though you can't see it--the top is there somewhere, and it will mark, finally, finally, the end of the journey, the rest, and then the blissful, accomplished descent.
The thing is, when we're in the midst of (what we desperately hope is) the last surge of endurance before the peak, we're not looking around. We're focused solely on survival--one foot, then another, one breath, then another. Besides, above the treeline, there's very little to see and even less to breathe. It's about reserving energy and calling up our deepest stores of willpower.
It's survival, but I'm not sure it's living.