I can't tell you how many books, teachers, classes, tonics, herbs, diets, meditations I've tried in order to find myself and my place in the world. I've been told again and again that we are born with that innate knowing, that seed containing a whole world of what we'll become, packaged with everything we could need for the journey.
I believe that. I do. But then I think I must be broken--why can't I find that stupid seed? Why won't its root just flipping grow already? Is mine defective? Or am I just a really, really bad gardener?
Or, is my seed a little weed (which actually appeals to me, no surprise), and here I am, just trying too bloody hard to cultivate it? Maybe. Or what if it's already full-grown and I'm doing what I'm supposed to?
Well. That's a possibility. But then, why aren't I happier? Freer? Lighter? I know I get that I'm in the way of all of that--believe me, I do. And I get glimpses between all the heavy-metal fencing I've put up around this poor wild garden I've got going on. I just keep circling, trying to find the gate that will let me in.
Maybe the problem is that I put up the fence in the first place.
Well, shit. I have no idea where the toolbox went. But I have hands and they can dig.