Hi there. I’m a carrier. It’s who I am. It’s what I do.
See, I used to not be a carrier. I used to run and play and be carefree. But I started feeling a little drifty so I wondered what it would be like to be still.
That’s when someone offered me this thing to carry.
At first it was nice. As they were handing it to me, it didn’t feel that heavy. It just felt firm. Steady.
And oh how proud I was! Look at me! I’m a carrier. It’s who I am. It’s what I do.
But then they let go.
And I was carrying it alone.
(Okay, this is a little heavier than I expected.)
But that was okay. It was so firm and steady.
And I’m a carrier. It’s who I am. It’s what I do.
So I carried.
And I carried.
And I carried some more.
It was still heavy but eh. I had gotten used to it.
Heavy was my normal.
Because I’m a carrier, you see. It’s who I am. It’s what I do.
Until.
Until one day, someone asked me why I was a carrier.
“Because I’m a carrier, you see.
It’s who I am.
It’s what I do.”
“But why?” said he.
“It’s who I ….”
Wait.
Is it who I am?
“What are my options?” asked I.
“Come run. Come play. Come be carefree!” said he.
So, after a moment of thought and hesitation, I stopped being a carrier.
I set it down.
I ran. I played. I was carefree.
But then night fell.
I felt that old drifty feeling and went to find my thing. My thing to carry.
Because I’m a carrier, you see. It’s who I am. It’s what I do.
But it was gone.
I searched frantically. I was lost. My thing was gone.
And of course you can’t run and play and be carefree in the dark.
So I crawled into a corner and held onto myself. And cried.
And waited for the dark to pass.
And it did.
Now it’s morning.
And here’s my thing. It was there all along, I just couldn’t see it.
Thank goodness. I can be a carrier again. It’s who I….well, you know.
So I try to pick it up.
And I can’t.
It’s too heavy.
Wait!
What’s wrong?
I’m a carrier. This is mine. It’s mine. How can I not lift it? I carried it for all these years.
Did it change?
No.
It didn’t change.
I did.
Sigh.
Maybe I’m not a carrier after all.