I go on a lot of walks, especially late at night.

As I walk in the middle of the empty streets, I’m surrounded by an array of equidistant streetlights, spread evenly along the line of houses.

I progress along the road, and the distance between the light behind me grows, and the distance between the light in front of me shrinks.

This interplay between the two sandwiched lights skews my shadow in an interesting, unique, and very consistent way. After walking through a set of 5 or 6 lights, the way the shadow mends becomes clear.

I look at my shadow a lot, and in some sense I’m comforted by its consistency, and intrigued by its malleability.

Some times it’s elongated, and slender - the length of 3 houses, while other times it’s miniscule and barely visible.

It changes enough that it feels tangible, but it is consistent enough that I can latch on to it, and be grounded in it.

Perhaps weird to admit, but I like the company of my shadow. As long as there’s a light source, and you exist, your shadow will also exist in some capacity.

I tend to think most deeply when I walk with my shadow. I’m not sure why. I got the idea of this post, in a similar situation.

Perhaps I feel most confident, because I’m exploring a certainty. I can rely fully on my shadow, because in some sense it’s one of the few things that’s guaranteed to be bound to me, that’s not tangible.

Unfortunately for it, it can’t leave me on a whim.

Perhaps we find comfort in knowing something can’t leave us, as exists for all other things.

Our parents.
Our friends.
Our skills.
Our thoughts.
Our body.
Our memories.
Our skills.

They all leave, at some point, and in some way.

Of course, this is dangerous thinking, because it puts a lot of emphasis on the idea of the self. It places the center of my focus on the physical body, heightening my association of “me” with my body.

That’s not the intention of this post.

Rather, it’s simply an observation with perhaps an insight into trust, commitment and anxiety.