I have a yearning. Let me explain.
Sometimes I like to sit and think about the first courageous amoeba who ventured from the dank primordial soup of early life onto land. What a brave little fellow he must have been all those eons ago to have left the comfort and warmth of the soup and to venture into the open air. An uncomplex soul, he then, of course, progressed up the evolutionary tree, growing a spine, standing upright so he could reach the bananas, shedding some hair before finally becoming…us.
What went through his simple-celled mind ? What drew him from his comfortable existence flopping about in the fetid detritus towards an undoubtedly more complicated and painful life on solid ground?
I’ll tell you what it was. It was a yearning!
This yearning is a visceral need to go further, in spite of compelling evidence to suggest it would be so much nicer to stay put.
It was inexplicably at the little amoeba’s minute core.
We all yearn. We do, don’t we?
It’s always there. It’s the background soundtrack to our lives as we go through the motions of doing our tax and rushing to meet up with friends.
We yearn our way out of our mum’s womb to oxygenated life. We exist because we yearn. And our existence is characterized by our yearning. (Although granted some of are able to put on a better make of sound-blocking earphones, happy to ignore the incessant buzzing. And about three times in any given week I envy such people this most sweet aptitude.)
When I was two, I’m sure it was my yearning that saw me strop out of my room at night to stand in front of Dad and yell my first word: Nooooooo!