My paper floor

I was dwelling comfortably on a paper floor. Much as you are now.
The room was small, but cozy. The floor looked hardwood sturdy. It seemed to be made of solid stuff: My relationships, my loves, my attachments, my place in the world, my hard work, my merits.
I drew confidence  from that solid floor.

Until
the whole damn thing came apart. Thin paper ripping and tearing. What a panic ensued.
I struggled, fought like a Mo-Fo , Kicking!  Flailing!  Striking out! Striking in!  Behaving BADLY! What didn't I try, to hold that disintegrated floor together.
But it was  paper. Wet tissue paper. There was never a real floor there at all. Never.

So here I am falling through the air grabbing at tiny shreds of  paper as they float past, as if they would break my fall. White-knuckled.

What a predicament!

I hate to tell you this, but you are also living on a paper floor.. You wont believe me, of course, because your own floor looks great. You reassure yourself, that unlike me, You've paid your dues. Your hard work will pay off. You've been walking on the sunny side, always on the sunny side. You dress for success. You pay your insurance bill with regularity. You eat right and exercise. You're as young as you feel. You have a seamless retirement plan.  You eat an apple a day. You believe in You!  You visualize success. YOU are a winner. You're in good hands with Allstate. You change the oil in your well-maintained automobile every 3000 miles. You have the love of your friends and family. You're loyal. You have worked hard to get where you are. You deserve good things.

And you DO!
 You've taken care. You built that  floor, and that bastard is SOLID.
.

You may never come to know you're walking on a paper floor. If you walk very carefully, it may hold up.

But even now, you occasionally see a weak spot. A little rip. A rend in the grain. Can you feel the unspecified cold gray clench of fear in your belly when that happens? Its hard to put a name to that unease.  You scurry to cover over the weak spot with crispy insurance policy statements. Mend that tiny rip with  positive affirmations that you've been keeping in a cheerfully decorated jar . That'll work. till the next time.

You can get along this way, so long as you find a way to get comfortable with the clench.

But there may come a time when despite your efforts, the patches no longer hold that paper floor together. You may wake up one day to find your floor in tatters. You, falling through the air, struggling to grab onto anything, ANYTHING to break your fall, only to find your fists full of paper. None of that solid stuff in your life will hold you.

But you'll still be here. Breathing. Falling and breathing, and as alive as ever.
Its very odd.

Your task (and mine) are  to learn to live while falling.
Its hard because one tends to try to build new improved paper floors. That urge is useless but it dies hard. and the effort involved may be comforting, but its paper your working with.
Even now my new paper floor looks pretty good. Its tempting to believe in it.