The Hard Thing

Why is it that something other than the best of us can so easily get the best of us?
The ability to do so is so much better when we are able to squeeze any good from it.
The ease of which we can take it, turn it, give it back in its most horrific form — it’s something.

Why is it that the best of us can so easily turn into the worst of what we can be?
It’s sadness. It’s pain. It’s possessive.
It’s because we let ourselves. It’s the easy thing to do.

But how often should we judge anything by the ease of which it comes?
Perhaps, it is the difficulty we should prize.
Grasping at the challenge, the gleaming, tauntingly visible obstacle.
Shouldn’t that be the motive?
To take and twist any of the bad into something beautiful on the other end.

And maybe spread a pinch of even a memory of sunshine onto a poor soul who needs something to remember.
Perhaps maybe that can help light a path for wherever they were headed to begin with.
After all, the ease of which we can turn a smooth surface into a jagged, stone-filled quest
can be kept a guided trail by the mere decision to hold back judgment on anything we would hate to be judged for.