A story for new years if you’re not quite feeling reborn.
When dealing with a change of the clocks and therefore a change in schedule, for those of us who overthink, it seems almost comforting to rearrange the entire day—look at us, we can engineer the most efficient, most logical, most pretty-on-paper schedule. And then, inevitably, because the plan is so perfect, it must be our fault that we failed at sticking to it.
This is all about setting our expectations: this is the one thing we can individually control for ourselves. Expecting the world to jump back to how it was is a futile exercise. It might seem comforting, but it’s delusional, and will lead to disappointment that always comes when expectations are not in line with reality.
I do not have words for today. Or rather, mine aren't the ones that are important.
Some of us still curl in our cocoons, waiting for our time to be right. We can now see both the butterflies, free and saving us all, but we can also see the raging worms. We know we want to be a butterfly, but it is tempting to escape early. To stay as we were. Because at least the worms are out there, in the world, not enclosed with only their thoughts and dreams and despairs and anger and fear.
The difference between being in immediate survival mode and a more sustainable survival mode, and the grief we need to allow ourselves to experience to move from one to the other.
We cannot skip this limbo stage. We cannot jump from old to new without a period of transition, which can become a period of metamorphosis if we only let it.
Gratitude is not something to be earned by solving a problem. It is something we all deserve and something we can give to ourselves even when everything seems terrible. It’s not a denial to our own problems or the world’s problems, but the key to being able to solve them.
What if she’s the one who can see the authentic me, and I cannot? What if I can be vulnerable and open and real and all those things and still be seen as having my shit together? Like those aren’t diametrically opposed views? That being vulnerable doesn’t have to equal “hot mess.” That perhaps it’s _my_ definition of “put together” that needs to change, not hers.
I don’t see it as hyperbole to say we’re looking at the end of the world as we know it. We can either drive that change to ensure future generations thrive, or we can dumbly be carried along with change and then wonder what happened.