Here’s the thing about transition.
Everything takes longer than we think it will.
And even though there is a certain amount of peace in knowing that, after a few weeks or even a couple of months, no matter how busy and fulfilled we keep ourselves along the way, there is this creeping dread that seeps under the door like a fog.
Its number one job will be trying to convince us that we are not enough. That we should be ashamed of ourselves for not arriving at our destination yet. And that our doubts are well founded and should be taken as gospel.
Such a mindfuck. Like trying to get blood out of a stone. Or trying to fit an octopus into a pair of tuxedo pants.
Worse yet, it’s not even that scary or painful of a feeling. It just sort of sits there.
What do we do when our reliable clock of instinct tells us that we’re on a short countdown to destruction? How do we act when the shiver of superstitious dread passes through us? Where do we go to cope with our fear that the horizon ahead feels limited?
Anywhere. Anywhere but here.
Sometimes that’s all we need. A heroic dose of displacement.
Because the more we dread something, the more awful we make it. But the sooner we remove ourselves to go perpendicular to the task at hand, even if only for a short while, the better we are going to feel.
Everyone needs a detour. Even those who aren’t quite sure where they are heading.
It’s the best way to stop being surprised every time we see difficult feelings looming on the horizon.
LET ME ASK YA THIS…
Was the clock ticking that loudly, or was it just your heart getting ready to explode?
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That Guy with the Nametag
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