I Always Catch Up

I kick my can,
But I always catch up.

I pick up my can,
I empty it and I kick my can,
But I always catch up.

I pick up my can,
I fill it and I kick my can,
But I always catch up.

I kick my can into tomorrow,
But I always catch up today.

I kick my can, it’s dented now,
But I always catch up, somehow.

I kick my can in endless loops,
But I always catch up, in swoops.

I kick my can, my legs grow weary,
But I always catch up, theory and query.

I kick my can towards the stars,
But I always catch up, near and far.

I kick my can through seasons’ change,
But I always catch up, time’s range.

The Can-Do Dance

You know, there’s something fascinating about this poem. It’s like watching a kid play hopscotch, always moving forward but never quite leaving the game behind. It’s all about this dance between pushing ahead and catching up, and isn’t that just like life?

Think about it – kicking that can forward, then catching up. It’s like what the French philosopher Henri Bergson said about time. He thought time wasn’t just a straight line, but more like a river where the past and present kind of swirl together. Every time you kick that can into tomorrow, you’re not just moving forward – you’re creating your own little time stream.

Now, emptying and filling that can – that’s life in a nutshell, isn’t it? Sometimes we feel empty, sometimes we’re overflowing. It reminds me of what Albert Camus said about Sisyphus, you know, the guy who had to keep rolling a boulder up a hill. Camus thought the key to life was finding joy in the process, not just the end goal. So maybe it’s not about whether the can is full or empty, but about enjoying the kick and the catch.

And those endless loops? That’s not just going in circles. It’s like what Søren Kierkegaard called “repetition.” He thought true repetition was about finding something new in the familiar. So each time you kick that can, you’re not just doing the same old thing – you’re creating a new moment, a new you.

Even when the can gets dented, you keep going. That’s resilience, right there. It’s like what Nietzsche called “amor fati” – loving your fate, dents and all. Because those dents? They’re part of your story. They make your can uniquely yours.

So what does this mean for us? Well, maybe it’s about finding the rhythm in our lives. The kick and the catch, the empty and the full, the familiar and the new. It’s about keeping moving, even when our legs get weary. Because with each step, each kick, we’re not just moving a can – we’re moving ourselves, our world, forward.

Remember, every time you kick that can, you’re not just playing a game – you’re practicing the art of living. You’re saying “yes” to life, to all its ups and downs. So keep kicking, keep catching up. In this little dance of yours, you might just find the secret to rolling with whatever life throws your way. After all, as the philosopher William James might say, life is in the kicking, not just in the can.