The Unbearable Lightness of Being

As I understand it, “lightness” is that floating feeling you get after divorcing yourself from responsibility.  For example, imagine one day you decide to quit the crappy job you hate.  You struggle to hold back shouts of joy as you leave the office for the final time.  You get in your car and buckle your seat belt when it occurs to you…why not get on the phone and break-up with that noncommittal “girlfriend” of yours while at it?  You do just that.  You then drive to the nearest gas station to fill your tank.  You buy a handful of cheap cigars and ask for directions to Vegas.  As light-as-a-feather, you cruise down Highway 15 with the windows down and music blasting. Fogerty jams on the stereo as smoke bellows out of the car - just you and your car, both completely detached from the gravitational pull of responsibility. 

Now, on the opposite pole, there’s “grounded.”  This time, imagine being away from home for a few weeks while on some crumby business trip.  Your loving wife of ten years waits patiently for you at home.  But she’s lonely.  Your kids don’t understand your absence.  You missed your son’s little league game today – an All-stars game.  They lost by a run, season's over.  Your daughter stayed home from school with a fever.  You sit alone at a motel bar and ask yourself…What the hell was I thinking?  Why did I take a job that forces me to be so far from my loved ones?  You fidget with a napkin and order another shot.  You start to feel a little tipsy.  In fact, you feel so unbearably light that you almost slip off the bar stool.  You long to be back with your family, back on Earth.  You throw back a final shot, float into the elevator, punch the “ground level” button and pray it takes you home.

*So then, dear reader, I ask: which state of being is better - “lightness” or “grounded”? I certainly don't have the answer.  I will, however, admit that I’d like to try my hand at the latter.  But if gravity fails me, I won’t hesitate to pack up the car, fill up the tank, and hit the highway with the windows down and music blasting.  Vegas?  No.  Portland?  Maybe.