It happens sometimes. Since I was small, I’ve changed selves over and over. I can tell when I get the rising-up feeling of impending upgrade: my journal no longer feels like home and I shop for a new one, leaving half a Roma Lussa blank as unused day; I believe I need to chop my hair off or else grow it to my hip bones; music sounds different, more joyful or less; I want to create so many so many so many things.
I’m feeling it now. The casting off of what’s useless, like a wine-stained party dress after I’ve slept in it. The longing to make something. The expansiveness of expression. The yearning for art. The despair.
I can tell I’m deep in transformation when the distractions aren’t compelling. Cookbooks! Nutrition podcasts! Hours of exercise! I’m content to sit and read as if I’m going somewhere. Because I am. I’m going back to myself, back in.
Inside there is an unchanging soul-home, radiant with every single possibility. I forget about that place sometimes, that hallway with many doors. It’s easier to rely on the world’s evidence. It’s easier to get lost in gossip and getting skinny and yelling your head off at your kids. It’s easier to believe that all you need to do to change your life is try this product or attend that event. But all those things, those channels for your self-betrayal, are temporary homes for all the hard feelings. The real place they live, in their true and magnificent form, is inside.
I am braving that place, home of hard feelings, home of desire and bravery and longing and boundless effervescent peace. I have found it is the only road that, while slow and scenic and sometimes sad, leads anywhere worth ending up.
Do people change? CAN they? I believe we grow. Our ideas evolve. We become kinder, or less kind. Our external self is important, an experiment, an exploration. But the Beyond within
Is the map.