tryingtofly

Gracio's post reminded me of this analogy that was sent to me once:

imagine a house, with a basement, a main floor, some other floors, andan attic. in the attic is a life worth living, and the basement floorof this house is strewn with hot coals. your life right now is like being in that basement -- it's not much fun and it hurts an awful lot sometimes, but it's understandable. over the years, you've developed ways of co-existing with the coals and their pain. there is a way out of the basement: an aluminum ladder that's proppedup amidst the coals and leads to an exit to the ground floor. of course, you can't see the ground floor, really, and all you know about it is what's filtered down to you. you've even heard that there aren't any coals on the ground floor (though you find that a bit hard to imagine; you can't remember a time without the pain and distress the coals cause you).

the problem is that when you decide to go check it out and grab the ladder to climb up, it's intensely painful. the aluminum has concentrated the heat and your normal ways of coping aren't going to work, so you let go and drop to the ground.

after all, who knows whether those stories about the ground floor are even true? but then one day, you accept that getting out of where you are now isn't going to be comfortable, and you persevere long enough to getjust a bit of deliciously cool breeze from above, and that taste of a different life is enough to keep you striving for more. it gives yousomething to cling to when you want to let go of the ladder. everytime you try to climb until one day you make it. and once you've attained the ground floor, you find that going higher in the building gets easier and easier the farther you get from the coals. so in some sense, getting better requires a leap of faith, a willingness to believe that the work and fear and pain is going to payoff in the future. it's a hard decision sometimes -- relief right now,or working toward getting to that life worth living.