We’ve been living a strange life recently.  

That of escapism to some extent. 

Where everything is real but in fact unreal for me. 

The online world is amazing but only as far as it actually sees you. But it rarely does. It sees the outputs of our work, perhaps, our ingenuities, but it doesn’t look one in the eye or take our child from our hands when the arms are exhausted from holding them.  I have been a bit grumpy lately, as you probably sense from this post, I feel that to some extent I embody my own grandmother who at times would talk to herself while going to the cellar to fetch some jars and would complain about the state of the world or about all the wrong decisions that according to her one of us had taken.  She would complain about the jars too, that they stand too high and she cannot reach them. Or that we move too quickly or eat too quickly and she cannot keep up.  She wanted to keep up but she couldn’t.  I cannot keep up either. I wonder what she complains about nowadays? Wherever she is now. Maybe she doesn’t complain at all. Maybe up there she rides a bike.  :)

I wonder though at times what would enable us to keep up, or perhaps it is really insane at times to demand from people that they would be enabled. Feels wrong at times, doesn’t it?

Or are we just resisting change?