I’m learning a funny thing about transformation. Well, maybe not funny, but good to know. Transformation comes with a lot of pressure, both internal and external. From the outside, the world resists. From the inside, I resist. I’m squeezed, compressed, twisted by conflicting desires. I yearn to move forward, yet I long for the comfort of where I was.
I sympathize with the pains of childbirth. Not the mother’s pain (having delivered my own and assisted in the delivery of 2 grandchildren, I could), but a pain that, were I to recall it, goes back to my own birth.
God, let me get through this! With just a few more pushes I’ll burst forth into my new life. I don’t want to withdraw back into the warm, safe, prenatal environment that prevents growth. And yet, I do. Because the here and now is squeezing the life out of me.
This isn’t what I’d imagined. Unlike the caterpillar that spins a snug cocoon and sleeps until it’s time to break free, unfolding its wings and flying, liberated, beautiful. No. Instead, I’m breathless and squalling, not yet free.
Somewhere inside of me is bohemia – “a person, such as an artist or writer, who lives and acts free of regard for conventional rules and practices.”
This is the life that awaits, if I can just liberate myself from the shackles of fear that bind me to the life I am living.
