What's the most powerful feeling in the world?
Is it the swell of warmth in your chest when you see someone you love? Or is it the unspeakable drain of loneliness in a crowded room? Is it the uncontrollable flush of heat beneath your skin when you feel anger?
Or is it simply just the rush of serotonin that assaults your system when you hear the sound of your doorbell, shrieking, and then mellowing out a constant pitch, signalling the arrival of the pizza delivery guy?
Surprisingly, none.
The sharpest, most profound feeling in the world is what you feel when you find a backup copy of a document you had finished right before your computer shut down.
It's what you feel when your body slumps against a swivel chair, losing its stiffness as you stare at a completed 20 page essay.
It’s what a woman feels when she steps onto her floor, softly letting go of a breath that she didn’t know she was holding, away from the one-man elevator.
And what makes it so powerful? The journey. The journey to relief can be every bit as painful as sweet as the outcome can be. The moments of stark panic that grip you tight as your laptop powers down, your open, unsaved, word document taunting you as the screen disappears.
Drowning in a plethora of tabs, stuck on page 4 of a 20 page essay as a mental numbness envelops you.
Blood pounding in a woman's ears as the numbers on an elevator's digital panel trickle towards her destination, eyes darting back and forth between it and her sketchy company.
Relief is an astounding emotion. It washes over you, fervently brushing against your skin. Delivering a chill as comforting as a forest full of stars, and a warmth as reassuring as a mother's hug. And then? It's gone as quickly as it comes. Leaving a buzz of curtailed comfort as a silent reminder.
