Wake up.

Last night I was climbing a hill on my bike. A six pack inside my bag and an assortment of groceries tied to the outside of that. The city struggle. I’d forgotten what it felt like to work to complete a basic errand.

I remember cursing the day-to-day battle when we lived in Chicago. And how I longed for simplicity and ease that became a way of life in Southern Missouri.

I had to stop and consider both sides of the contradiction. Without some struggle, how do you know you’re alive? But how long can you go before the struggle eventually breaks you down and makes you bitter?

I don’t have the answers folks, just questions. And a small assortment of groceries.

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