Shelves and Hills and Boulders

12:41 AM. This is my summit. This is when, if I were Sisyphus, I stand at the peak of the hill, wrapped in the quiet of whatever semblance of a finished task there is, before my boulder rolls down again. This is the moment when realizations and reflections start with the phrase “at the end of the day…”

At the end of the day, more often than not, after partying for beaten deadlines, we stop and take stock of what has been postponed: people and relationships we excuse ourselves away from.

At the end of the day, we think of birthdays unremembered and belated plans and of presents yet to be wrapped.

Of ecclesiastical duties de-prioritized

Of letters unwritten

Of goodbyes unsaid

Of welcomes not uttered sincerely enough

Of gratitude not expressed quite adequately

Of griefs postponed

And wishes unspoken


At the end of the day, we realize how laughable the things we spend our hours with. They seem trivial in the face of what we have to put on hold. We put relationships on a shelf, so that we can roll our boulders. And then at the summit, we take the relationships down from the shelf where we had shoved them before we dove into the rush of deadlines. We take them down, dust them off, and expect them to pick up from where we left off.

At the end of the day, we realize that we live in a scary maze of shelves and hills and boulders, where we could be shoved in a shelf and postponed, where, as it happens sometimes, we are never taken down nor dusted off.

At the end of the day, we know that we do what we can. We do our best to make amends. We will always have hills assigned to us, and boulders to roll, and handy shelves. This shelf is for plans; this one for Church; this one for friends who never complain; this one for those who do.

At the end of the day, we look forward to the summit, to the pause, to the quiet. To remember whom we put on the shelf this time, and dust them off.



Perhaps. At the end the day.