Change is hard--there's a deep thought for you, petals. And I'm with you--I'm 100% happy (okay...92.2% happy) keeping to my routine, changing nothing. But the hard truth is, if we don't change, if we don't sit and breathe through the discomfort of transition, then we'll never experience the beautiful expansion, the broader worldview that acres and acres of new space provides.
We move or we die--that's a brutal truth, but it's also a marvelous opportunity. If it helps, change is inevitable--it's out of our hands. It's one of the (many, many) things over which we have no control--and there's a lovely freedom in that. Embrace it, trudge through it, but no matter how you approach change, be grateful for it--it proves you're still alive, still sparking enough to generate your own heat, your own evolution.
Boundaries are vitally important, and getting intimate with where yours fall is part of this ongoing process of self-care and self-discovery.
But if you're anything like me, I suspect that some of those boundaries have morphed from privacy fence to prison wall. And perhaps you, like me, have noticed your perimeter getting smaller and smaller and that you've begun to gaze at your walls rather than approach them.
And it begs the question (for me, at least)--where did that intrepid wall-climber go? Where did the rebel disappear to? When did the tester of limits, the darer of the unknown, vanish? And how long will I keep myself prisoner before I realize that this is no longer self-preservation, but habit?
So maybe it's time to gain a little ground, to get a little perspective. Not from the top, necessarily, not right away. But a peek over the edge? The view from a convenient tree limb? I think that might be a very good start.
We were not born to be timid. Wary, cautious, sure, depending on the situation--our survival depended on it. But here's the thing--wariness, cautiousness can make us stronger. They can make us braver. They are the first tools we need when we go out into the world, because to feel cautious, to feel vigilant means we are testing ourselves, stretching ourselves, exploring the world--either literally or creatively--we've been set down upon.
But to let timidity creep in, to let it keep us from stepping outside our front doors, is a terrible loss. Timidity is a taker of hostages and if we don't rise up and fight back, then we'll be doomed to the same uninspired view for a very long time.
We are primed to respond to alarmist news, to gossip, to anything that feeds on fear or anxiety or anticipation. We know this, and yet (and yet!) we fall for it every time. We fall for the dread and we fall into our old litany, and all it means is that we forget to breathe. We forget to remember that we've been here before, and we forget--most of all and most profoundly--how strong we are, how capable, and how often we've heard this song before.
We're so terrified of stillness--of not taking immediate action, of being alone with ourselves, with the bodies and the space and the time and responsibilities we inhabit now that we have no idea what would happen if we stood still. Just for now, just to see.
I wonder what that kind of stillness would feel like, and I wonder if we have the stamina for it.
I think I've decided to rely on full disclosure more often than not. You know, when appropriate. Perhaps if I stop acting as if something isn't bothering me when it is, when asked, I'll tell the truth. Perhaps we're all alike in our neurosis, that as different as they may be from one another, they don't need to separate us. Perhaps, if we could speak them aloud, we'd all fit like a puzzle, filling in strength where others lack it, shoring up worries by those who have been where we are.
Perhaps if we were all just simply, and without drama, transparently honest with each other, we'd all sleep better at night.
Most of us do something that frightens us every day--sometimes getting out of bed is daunting enough. But how often do we attempt to tackle something that frightens us straight to the core of who we (think we) are? I reckon, for me at least, it ain't that often. You can't be brave without being frightened, and I consider myself pretty brave for someone who *really* enjoys a good comfort zone.
But yesterday I did a thing that frightened me so much, I wasn't sure how I would navigate, not only the rest of my day, but the rest of my days. Perhaps that sounds dramatic, but for me, it most certainly was.
So. There are levels of bravery and levels of scary things and I think we must judge this journey on our own merits. No one is doing this living for us--everything we feel, everything we navigate, if it's true to us, it's legitimate. Don't let anyone downplay or belittle your achievements. You are one fierce warrior and your journey is nothing but epic.
It's impossible, I think, not to look ahead, not to plan, to worry, to anticipate. Even though we teach ourselves, through our own experience, that all that energy spent is needless, I think it's hardwired into us.
At any rate, the day arrives, presaged by all that anxiety, and maybe it's exhausting. Maybe it's terrible. Maybe it's wonderful, but inevitably, there is beauty there somewhere. There are moments of quiet. There are snippets of peace. Find those and rest in them before you can leave the day, the week, the year behind, congratulating yourself--sincerely--for being brave for having walked through it at all in the first place.