An Inch

Insignificance breathes down my neck. Like a traumatic memory invading all the rest, it enslaves my mind to wandering from past to present to future in search of absolute certainty. Who I am and what I do is enough...right? I track the footprints that led me here and ask myself where they are going, how deep were they, did they last, will they last, and what difference does it make?

Difference is a hard thing to measure, especially a 'real' difference, which implies a fake kind exists for those of us unimportant enough to achieve something meaningful. What categorizes them? How do you know when you've shifted from one to the other? Who decides when your difference is enough to certify as 'real'?

Sometimes it feels like an inch doesn't mean a thing. Without twelve inches we'd never know a foot, but who notices a foot, much less an inch, when you're in so deep light itself is dull in memory. No matter the amount of effort it took to earn, an inch doesn't seem to matter in the dark. Was the effort worthwhile? Will there ever be enough effort to make it worthwhile? Who are you to even try?

It's a hopeless journey for significance. Enough won't ever really be enough. Or maybe what I perceive 'enough' to be is achieved only by a manipulation of stats and false empathy. Maybe we are only ever meant to do a little. Maybe a little is exactly enough.