The constant

It's not that it's more important than everything else.

It's that every other thing in my life may be transient, but as long as I am able to do it, I will always be weightlifting. At the end of the work day, on my day off, on vacation, during a crisis, before a trip, after a trip, before the laundry is done, whether the housekeeping is done, before I return phone calls, after I return phone calls, before the sun sets, into the dark.

If I lose my job, I will still be weightlifting.
If I lose my house, I will still be weightlifting.
If my loved ones fade away, I will still be weightlifting.

Whether my mind is upheaved or my soul is quiet, the bar is my constant. It never wavers. It never leaves. It is always ready. Whether I succeed or fail, it is ready. When I am spent, it is still ready.

As singular and private as my love for the bar is my love for those who help me grasp it, who return to the bar themselves when I am not there, who live in this space between the rest of life's incidents, who tomorrow and tomorrow, will still be weightlifting, just like me.