Survival of the one with the most stamina

Imagine you lived in a jungle. Many dangers lurk in this jungle. You are food to most of them. Imagine that on a daily basis you need to defend yourself, keep yourself alive both by fending off attackers and by finding sustenance. How long before this ritual wears you down? Would you ever tire of it?

I grow tired.

I am not an alpha in any physical sense. My body, while flexible, is frail. I hold little raw strength in my muscles. I am able to produce short bursts of energetic movement but I’m finding no time nor space to recover any more. The sustenance that should aid in replenishing my energy is not doing a thorough job.

I am tired.

My mind and my body is weary. I feel very close to breaking point.

My world is full of promise and potential and devoid of substantial support. There is no proof of return. No guarantee of salvation. I may be fighting for my survival until the day I die.

Doesn’t seem much point to that, does there?

If you actually think about it, is the hope, the promise really worth it? Maybe this will be the last beast I fend off. Maybe this will be the last crop to fail. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

As long as I can remember, there have never been any true guarantees. There have been moments of respite. Blissful periods when the beasts were in hibernation or hunting in other parts of the jungle. Times when the rains fell regularly and the fruit was plentiful.

Those periods were very short lived.

If I were to draw a pie graph of the comparison, it would look like a Pac-man with a very small mouth.

I can still fight. My body hasn’t crumpled yet. I can still last a few more years. But I ask myself if I am deluding myself. If the promises are all empty. If the beasts will never back down and I will die in the same place I stand now.

Why don’t I move, you ask? Why not leave this jungle, with its lushness and sweet fruits that I often cannot indulge in? Give up on the promises and stop fighting. Migrate to another place that may or may not hold similar dangers and treasures.

I haven’t an answer to that. Perhaps, I should. This land holds no honey for me. There’s no guarantee that any land does, of course. Still, it beats sitting around waiting for more unfulfilled promises, right?