ATLAS AND SYSIPHUS

“Do you think it’s a case of ‘a problem shared is a problem halved’?” asked someone yesterday. 

Isn’t that supposed to rhyme? I thought.

But I was pausing my reply for another reason, one that was forming as I stood there. Eventually I said,

“Well it sort of depends on who the person is…”

He smiled, knowingly. I mean, instinctively, we all know it don’t we? Share your problem with the wrong person and it creates seventeen more problems. I know my maths is out, but more often than not, a problem shared is a problem squared.

He is right though. I do need someone to talk to. I’ve let everything build up. I’m pretty sure us men are dab hands at that - solitary load-carrying chaps, cheerily telling our mates ‘everything’s fine’ which might be true… but also lacking the subtle nuance that while we’re ‘fine’, we’re also extremely close to everything not being fine - and that detail really matters. Dab hands.

This makes me imagine Atlas and Sysiphus catching up over a coffee. One with the world on his shoulders; one whose job it is to push a boulder uphill forever. Alright mate? Yeah not too bad. You?

How do you know who the right person to ‘halve your problem’ is? That’s sometimes a little tricky. 

“Cor, you don’t do small talk do you?” said my pal, chuckling. No, I said, arching. Life’s too short for chit chat. There’s a place for it, of course, but it can only ever be a means to an end, surely? Otherwise Atlas and Sysiphus would be sitting there forever, twirling stirrers into their lattes, complaining about Zeus again while the boulders tumble and the sky falls in.

I want to be real, I think.