We almost always feel less
Safe than we actually are.
And not feeling safe uses
Vast swaths of bandwidth
With its high noise to signal ratio,
Leaving nothing redemptive
In the wake of paralysis
By the jitters.
It comes like a hit and run driver
Shooting through the crosswalk
As you stop
To tie your shoe--
Luck and circumstance
Conspire to save you.
Every throbbing second you spend here,
You engage in a game of dodge ball,
And bob and weave through a multitude
Of objective hazards, walls, and shoals
Over which you have no control―
And only a fraction of which you ever see.
If we knew of every near-miss,
It would be tough to keep shuffling on,
And somehow, we learn just enough
To mostly keep us on our toes.