Interesting how beautiful so many situations appear to be when the lens that one is looking through changes. An argument in taffeta becomes some type of ode-to-an-aesthetic of yore, looses all of its astringent culpability. I feel like that idea, of how the lens at which life is looked through informs your overall satisfaction, is such an age-old cliché, but one that holds a bit of juice left in its glass jar regardless.Lately, stress has seemingly gotten the better of me, something I think (potentially) others reading this or flying past it can relate to. A healthy amount of stress is one thing, but the addiction we have to it in my culture (being of the North American kind) means that the bar becomes raised, and what is regular in terms of expectations and productivity truly becomes an unhealthy norm.
All the more reason then to blur that lens and let go of the perspectives I have about stress. Even with certain elements and responsibilities being ones I can neither avoid nor wish to, I think it is truly a choice to be stressed out about my life and its parts. Better to feed my stomach when hungry and leave the stress-beasts to waste away in their caverns within. I might miss their ability to shake and stir my insides for awhile once they've died off from malnutrition, but I doubt I'll miss their wails and hysterias. There are other silly monsters to spend time with that leave less of a mark upon saying goodbye.
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