A Frog in Boiling Water

No, I am against torturing frogs. I seem to not be as vigilant in protecting myself, though. The title is referring to an old metaphor about how we unwittingly adapt to harmful conditions, one you've probably heard before.

In case you don't know the story, it essentially goes like this: If you put a frog into boiling water, he'll have enough sense to hop out, quickly.

However, if you put him in a pot of cold water over heat, he'll slowly cook to death, not sensing the boundary between "being a good temperature" and "this'll kill me."

How often we are in that situation. Hopefully it doesn't cause death, but one day our common sense wakes up and we wonder, hey, how did I get in this situation?

The choices I made along the way, the obligations I was compelled to accept, lack of foresight, all led me, conciously or not, to the chair I now sit in. I'll be the first to tell you, mine is not a leisurely life. Sometimes I feel like the version of Mary in Clarence's George-Baily-never-having-been-born scenario. No, I am not feeling sorry for myself, but I have to ask, what went wrong, if anything?

I have on my fridge a magnet that reminds me that the past cannot be changed, but the future can be whatever you want it to be. Another by Winston Churchill, if you're going through hell, keep going.

There is a constant stress in being in the middle of two generations. Just like the frog in the ever-warming pot of water, each small rise in stress on a daily basis goes unnoticed until one day I am doing things I never thought possible a few years ago.

I'd love to hear your story.