This Light Is Not My Own

I'm a little ashamed to say it, but I'm tired of holding up other people's torches. And I say I'm ashamed because it seems so self-serving to make such a claim. But this nevertheless seems true. I often look to my arms and they are thronged with the torches of others and my own light is nearly extinguished at my feet. Simply put and not trying to sound high and mighty, I suffer from the afflictions found in caring for others more than myself. This runs in my family in varying degrees.

My father once told me he's "done" with helping others, that he's been in way to many situations where his extensive efforts went disregarded and without reciprocation. Some days I don't blame my father for feeling this way. I sometimes find it difficult to fault him for maintaining certain selfish proclivities. And, to be clear, even though my father once said he's "done," he still answers effort in kind, which is an attribute wholly vacant in some folks. I didn't start this day supporting the inclination of being "done," nor will I necessarily be this way tomorrow, but for a heap of reasons - stretched across several years - I feel a lot like my father in this late hour.

I'm not sure exactly what set it off, but it seems to stem from the occasional self-righteous privilege I see in others. To be clear, I think my frustration is catalyzed by people who assume success should fall into their laps just because they are breathing. Their assumption, naturally, belies reality.

And so I ask:  What happened to solid personal effort? What happened to the good old-fashioned notions of trying? Why do I find myself holding up the light of others so often?

It seems to me everyone knows how to hold up the light of others, and yet they only hold their own. In many cases, folks even expect others to carry their light for them, that they afford this right much the same way royalty makes use of servants.

This cannot last. It must end. Such notions of privilege are childish and indolent.

And, to be sure, I am not exempt from such vagabond thinking. I too, at one time or another, have dumped my light into the open arms of someone more willing than I. Be that as it may, I still find myself holding the torches of others more often than not. And in this I beckon myself to heed a particular warning, which is to know the right time to abandon the lights of others so I may reignite my own.

With a somewhat vague success I understand the more torches I hold, the brighter I am . . . and that such makes me more likely to catch fire and descend from flesh to ashes.

Nevertheless, I continue to hold bundles of light (I know I'm not the only one). But I do so with what wisdom I've gleaned from the dissatisfaction of my father. And don't be surprised if I hand your light back to you - because the effort I put into social relationships is back-breaking. But if you can reciprocate, then it's easier to carry your light. And given the right circumstances, I'll even sing your anthems.

But in this moment I look down at my arms and see . . .

. . . this light is not my own.