Sometimes there is a certain thrill - a moment of inspiration, a tender building of affection, insight into the possibilities that change would bring. When that happens, re-imagining yourself is like playing house as a child - creating a story in your head and running with it giddily.
Sometimes, however, you're not sure how far you should stretch. Sure, I'd be open to learning how to install a hydroponics garden.... wait, really? Would I? Do I actually want to know how to do that? With this wondering comes a certain tiredness, a longing for stability: the predictability of dynamics and expectations, the knowledge of where things are or where they are supposed to be put away. It's not like you don't know who you are, you've just re-imagined your context so much (or actually changed it!) that you don't see how you fit anymore.
How do we meet ourselves there? How do we speak truth into all those emotions? How much do you push through the internal resistance to change - or do you heed it completely, cautiously, becoming hesitant and or a bit of a curmudgeon?
"Joy to find in every station something still to do or bear..." Hmm. Oh, liminal spaces.
No comments:
Post a Comment