What's it like to be human?

What it’s it like to be human? If not to persevere with trembling hands? If not to be in awe of the Earth, to press palms against a pulse and listen? If not to kneel, in prayer, in surrender, in reverence to what is vast, what is fleeting, to what we may never understand?

To be human is to suffocate, to be human is to breathe. To be human is to find the path of least resistance—stubborn journey after stubborn journey.

I recently read Pure Colour by Sheila Heti and a part I underlined read, ‘She doesn’t know why she spent so much of her life thinking about such trivial things, or looking at websites, when just outside her window there was a sky that was not trivial.’

To be human, I think, is to continually discover what may be just outside our peripheral. When our hearts close in on us, when the world is awfully trivial—there is a sky that is not, there are mountains that are not, there are seasons that are not. And there is a love within us, which will never be.