July 29th, 2021
To most people, a floor is a floor.
It’s the bottom, the thing we stand on relative to the rest of the world, which rises above us.
When we open our social media apps or just contemplate our place in the universe, we generally enter on the floor. We look up and we see the lives we wish we had, the houses we’d die to live in, the jobs we’d kill to perform, the unconditional love and support of family or friends or a spouse we long to be connected to.
Everything becomes relative to where you are, and where you think you are is the floor.
I remember the first time I went to the Mall of America. We were on an upper level, and I was scurrying around curiously. Without warning, I was suddenly levitating in mid-air, the ground beneath my feet seemingly dissolved.
Some of the floors had been made with small glass panes, which you could see straight through, down to the levels below.
And just like that, the floor wasn’t a floor anymore.
And I had to make everything relative.
You are not on the bottom of anything. You just think you’re on the floor. The truth is, there is an infinite amount of levels below you, and it might make you feel a little better to remember that.
You don’t have to feel like a relative aspect to the rest of the world. You get the enchanting and remarkable chance every day to make the world relative to you.
You get to decide if you’re in the basement or on the roof. But you will rarely, if ever, be either. You could rest easier in the truth that you’re probably always somewhere right in-between. And, relatively, that is never a bad place to be.