Once, not too long ago, we all floated merrily down the river of life in a giant inflatable called the Fun Tube. It wasn’t always smooth—there were bumps, rapids, and the occasional bug in your drink—but for the most part, it was buoyant. Light. Full of laughs.
Until one day, someone—no one knows exactly who—broke the fun tube.
Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was too much news, too little sleep. Maybe it was the creeping sense that joy had become optional, or worse, naive. Either way, a hiss filled the air. The deflation was slow, but it was real.
People panicked. Fingers were pointed. Blame bounced around like a beach ball at a bad concert. And while everyone shouted over the whirr of shrinking rubber, something else crept in: negativity. It came dressed as realism, as cynicism, as “just being practical.” It told us the fun tube was childish. It told us we were foolish for ever believing it would last.
But here’s the truth no one wanted to say out loud: our perceptions pierced the tube.
We let fear hold the needle. We handed over control of our reactions, forgot we were the ones who steered, who paddled, who sang silly songs over the roar of the rapids.
So now what?
Now—we patch it.
We refill the fun tube. With joy, with hope, with absurdity. With bad dance moves, inside jokes, and the radical act of choosing optimism. Staying positive isn’t delusion. It’s defiance. Controlling our emotions isn’t repression—it’s resilience. We can always do better. Always feel better. Always choose not to hand the needle to the fear-mongers.
Let’s patch up the fun tube and float again.
And let’s not let the bastards win.