Saturday, February 22, 2014

Doing Hard Things

I sit here with a small pit in my stomach. I must leave the house in an hour to head off to work. Last night, I felt the same way as I headed off to a dance class. I felt a little of the same when I ran to get groceries right before my lesson.

Given a choice, I would choose to stay home.

I can do hard things. I can leave the house. I can go out and socialize and be among people. But it takes so much energy. I can feel the elastic band that ties me to our home pull taut and I simply want to let it go and spring back into my safe and happy little place.

I am grateful that I cannot succumb to my wishes all of the time.

Thankfully, groceries must be bought and errands must be run. I am fortunate to have friends and family that invite me out into the real world and keep me from shutting myself in. It is good that people ask me to do them a favor that forces me out of my safe space here at home.

I am not the frightened, shy girl that I used to be.

I may not act like that young girl on the outside any more but she is alive and well inside of me. When I come home and replay conversations that I have had, I cannot stand it when I hear my own voice so dominantly within the playbacks. I have had verbal hangovers when I have literally approached people 'the day after' and made amends for talking so much.

 I know that this is getting harder because I am pushing myself less.

There was a time when I was running out of the house (almost) every night after supper. Zumba was my passion. I danced. I tried a BellyFit class. I was pushing my personal limits and I was exhilarated by my bravery. I didn't need anyone to invite, cajole, push or join me on my adventures outside of these walls. I did it. By myself.

I felt so alive when I pushed my limits.

I have shrivelled up into someone that I don't want to become. I am pushing myself out of that spot a little bit at a time and I hope that (in my tortoise-like way), I will eventually get to my destination. But I remember the way I sprinted to the (illusive) finish line when I had the energy of that hare in Aesop's fable...

Perhaps I am the hare after all. I sprinted so hard and so fast there for a while, that I curled up to take a nap at the side of the road. Then, whenever I saw that tortoise approach, I took another short jog. And rested.

Jog ... and rest. Jog ... and rest. Jog ... and rest...

Is that really the best way to get where you want to go? It is better than just resting. Jogging is good for the heart but places a greater strain on your body. Thus, the rest period is required.

I know that slow but steady is the way to go. Perhaps that is exactly where the-life-I-am-leading is taking me.

But for now? I must jog to work. Maybe I will walk home ...

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