If you were to distill the entire human experience down to its core, you would find it’s not a complicated philosophical treatise. It’s not a 12-step self-help program. It’s a two-panel comic, recently unearthed from the digital archives of the internet, that speaks a truth so profound, so universal, it should be carved into the walls of every office, home, and school.
The comic is simple. Devastatingly so.
Panel One: A single, powerful word: “POSITIONS.” It’s bold. It’s assertive. It’s framed like a championship banner. This is the state of having your life together. This is the you that meal-preps on a Sunday, has a five-year plan, and knows where the car insurance documents are without a 45-minute panic search.
Panel Two: The inevitable, crushing follow-up: “EXCUSES.” The font is the same, but the energy is completely different. This is the you that ate the meal-prep for a 3 PM snack on Monday and is now ordering a large pizza, alone, in the dark.
This comic isn’t just a joke; it’s the entire story of every project, goal, and New Year’s resolution you’ve ever had. Let’s break down the epic saga it tells.
Act I: The Glorious “POSITIONS” Era
Ah, “POSITIONS.” What a beautiful, hopeful place. This is the launch phase. The air is crisp, the whiteboard is clean, and the future is a blank canvas waiting for your masterpiece.
In the Professional World:
You’re in a Monday morning meeting. The boss says, “We need someone to take the lead on the Synergistic Cross-Platform Outreach Initiative.” Your hand shoots up. “POSITIONS!” you declare, your voice ringing with the confidence of a Roman general. You have a plan. You’ve already mentally organized the Gantt chart, color-coded the shared drive, and scheduled the follow-up meetings. You are a paragon of productivity. You are, for one glorious moment, Employee of the Month material. You leave the meeting, a steaming cup of ambition (disguised as coffee) in your hand, ready to conquer.
In Personal Life:
This is the you who buys a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle of a starry night. You clear the dining room table, meticulously sort the edge pieces from the field pieces, and put on a sophisticated podcast. “This will be a meditative exercise in patience and focus,” you think. You assemble the entire border in under an hour. “POSITIONS!” you whisper to the cat, who is watching with judgy eyes. Victory is assured.
The Inevitable Turning Point
But between “POSITIONS” and “EXCUSES” lies a shadowy, un-pictured realm. This is The Swamp of Diminishing Momentum. It’s where the initial burst of energy fades, and reality sets in.
For the work project, it’s when you realize the “Synergistic Cross-Platform Outreach Initiative” involves coordinating with Brenda from Accounting, who still thinks “the cloud” is a cumulonimbus formation and responds to all emails with “Per my last email…” sent 30 seconds ago.
For the puzzle, it’s the moment you’re left with 700 pieces that are all varying shades of navy blue and black. Your back hurts from hunching, your podcast has moved on to a deeply unsettling episode about deep-sea anglerfish, and the cat has stolen a puzzle piece shaped like Italy.
The hope in your eyes flickers and dies. The transition begins.
Act II: The Gloomy “EXCUSES” Dominion
And then, we arrive. The land of “EXCUSES.” It’s a crowded, well-trodden place where we all are permanent residents. The banner is the same, but it’s now covered in a fine layer of dust and regret.
Back at the Office:
It’s two weeks later. The boss asks for an update on the Initiative. You do not have a Gantt chart. You have a Notes app filled with frantic, half-formed thoughts like “Brenda??? Charts?? Why??” You take a deep breath and deploy your excuses, which you have been honing to a fine art.
- The Vague Technical Glitch: “The system has been… uncooperative. We’re waiting on IT to re-calibrate the paradigm servers.” (You forgot your password.)
- The Collaborative Bottleneck: “I’ve sent all my materials to the relevant stakeholders and am currently in a holding pattern awaiting their feedback.” (You emailed Brenda a week ago and she replied “K.”)
- The Strategic Pivot: “After a deep-dive analysis, I believe the initial scope was flawed. I’m currently re-evaluating the core deliverables to ensure we’re aligned with the broader company vision.” (You haven’t started.)
At the Dining Room Table:
The puzzle, once a symbol of your intellectual vigor, now mocks you. A friend calls and asks what you’re up to. “Oh, not much,” you say, staring at the half-finished, blue blob of failure. The excuses flow like wine:
- The Blame Game: “The cat has been… disruptive. I think she hid a crucial piece.” (The cat is innocent.)
- The Quality Cop-Out: “The cut on this puzzle is terrible. The pieces aren’t unique enough. It’s a manufacturer defect, really.” (It’s not.)
- The Philosophical Surrender: “I’ve come to realize that the journey of the puzzle is a metaphor for life. Is it ever truly finished? Or is the beauty in the attempt?” (You’re giving up and putting it back in the box, where it will live for the next three years.)
Why This Comic is the Story of Our Lives
The genius of “POSITIONS/EXCUSES” is that it captures the cycle of ambition and humanity. We are not machines. We are beings who dream of “POSITIONS” but are built with a fundamental flaw: a profound talent for “EXCUSES.”
We see it everywhere:
- The Gym Membership: POSITIONS: “I’m going to go six times a week and finally get those abs!” EXCUSES: “My body is telling me it needs a rest day. Also, it’s kinda cloudy. Also, I think I’m coming down with that thing that’s going around.”
- Learning a Language: POSITIONS: Buys Rosetta Stone, plans trip to Italy. EXCUSES: “I’ll do my lesson after this one episode… Okay, maybe tomorrow. Ciao for now!”
- Cooking at Home: POSITIONS: Buys $200 worth of exotic groceries. EXCUSES: “The recipe said ‘julienne’ and I don’t have the right knife for that. It’s a safety issue. Let’s just get tacos.”
The comic doesn’t judge us. It simply observes. It knows that for every perfectly organized spice rack (POSITIONS), there is a drawer full of tangled charging cables and dead batteries (EXCUSES).
So the next time you find yourself plummeting from the giddy heights of “POSITIONS” into the comfortable swamp of “EXCUSES,” don’t despair. Smile. Recognize the ancient dance. You are not a failure; you are a participant in the most human of all cycles.
Just maybe, try to spend a little more time flying the first banner. And if you can’t, well, you have a perfectly good excuse.
