Ella Frances Sanders



It doesn’t usually end well, thinking this much at 1:32 a.m. when you’re lacking logic and have stopped caring how many circles you go round in.

Few things are constant. Waves, perhaps. The rising and setting of the sun. Whoever wants to stay around long enough for me to consider them a permanent fixture. Actually, I’m not really sure what that necessarily means; constant, unchanging. Very few aspects of life are safe or reliable, and even fewer people.

Being emotionally and physically constant are two very different (though not entirely independent) states of being. I believe that most people haven’t even begun to settle in either of them, not for one second. Our hearts tend to move around rather erratically, often unsupervised and the slightly-off-centre of your chest doesn’t care whether your body and mind are in understanding. The damn thing drags you all over the place.

And if you aren’t trying to keep up with your beats per minute, they’ll run away with you. Because it seems to me that life is just changes; one after the other, unrelenting and usually unobserved. Everything moves and you’re not still.


Sometimes we come across people who are have settled into the world far better than us; recognisable constellations in a badly-organised night sky of innumerable stars. They remind you that there can be such a thing as coherence, that unchanging doesn’t have to mean a lack of the staggeringly beautiful, and that ‘constant’ can actually be the volatile result of a million and one different and ever-changing experiences.

Because resisting change doesn’t mean you’re reliably static or that you have unwavering beliefs, it’s far more difficult to fight than simply surrendering to the inevitable, and once you’ve realised that the world is going to carry right on with its rotation around the sun whether you fill each 24 hours with everything or nothing, life gets a hell of a lot easier.

WritingElla Frances Sanders