It is this myth of symmetry, of which we are given to subscription, on which inclination places its burdensome yoke, from which we learn the impotence of equity, and in which we, ultimately, find our disheartenment. This queer belief that each side of the equation finds solution, its value, in balance, is human, computational error.
Fairness, truly understood, is conclusively unfair. Without balance, it is a fall off a slippery log, that in our deliberate falling away, another might find their footing as they cross. In our struggle for solvency, fearful we might lose ourselves to the shame of subordination, it is, in the end, a question of intent.
There is no disgrace in a decision to yield. There is no yellowed jaundice tainting our free will, our hearts need not become jade stone to find some sort of definement, and they need not demand equality. There is no stature lost in acquiescence.
Contrarily, we become larger through ceding pieces of ourselves so that others might be whole. In our intentional diminishment, in removing the bricks from our mighty walls, surrendering each to those needing affirmation of foundation, we’ve allowed light to pass through, both entering, and radiating outward. We’ve created a means of egress from our prison of pride, through which we might escape that self we’ve outgrown.
Part of an old writing challenge. The prompt was ‘symmetry’, I think. I dunno. I might not have followed the rules.