Change is hard.
(That’s nothing new, nothing revolutionary.)
Sometimes, we’re forced to change. A new city, a new job; a marriage, a baby … Those sorts of things that take your life, flip it, and leave you with no choice but to sink or swim.
Other times, though, change is more subtle.
It creeps into the crevices of your existence, into the nooks and crannies of your soul, and whispers.
“Change, or else.”
We all know these times. We ignore the whisper as long as we can. We like our lives. We like the vice, whether it’s drugs or alcohol or sex or food or working too hard or numbing ourselves with doubt. We like whatever is holding us back from being the person we want to be, because it’s comfortable. Hell, maybe it’s even fun. Exciting. A diversion from the life we are scared to embrace.
But it’s toxic.
And that’s the thing about Change, really. The voice always gets louder. We can run from it for so long, until it’s screaming at us, shouting, a monkey on our back reminding us that we’re slipping, and if we’re not careful, it will be too late.
So we start to turn the page, to take steps in another direction.
But it’s tough.
A step forward, two steps back. We almost always find ourselves back in the arms of the vice. Most people who try to change fail, often, and for good reason. We don’t want to be cold and uncomfortable. We don’t want to suffer, even though it’s temporary, even though the suffering could lead to something more beautiful and permanent. We don’t like the pain.
I call it circling the bench.
We all have benches that we sit on, at a fork in the road, when we can clearly see the path we need to be walking. We stare down that road and know we’re supposed to go that direction, but our feet are frozen. We’re paralyzed on the bench. Unable to change.
Eventually, we start circling the bench. Knowing we NEED to change, but scared, unsure. That new road is lonely and long.
It isn’t until we take those first steps – they don’t call ‘em baby steps for nothing – that life starts to show itself. That whatever we’ve been using to numb ourselves begins to strip away, and that fog we’ve been veiling our emotions under starts to lift. And the future still looks scary, but somehow more acceptable. Somehow more clear. The bench is farther away.
So circle the bench. Walk around it, shift your eyes to the seduction of what it offers, whether it’s approval or companionship or a high. Remember it’s false. And when you’re ready, force yourself to look away.
Look down that road, the one with promise and potential. The one that allows you to live raw, and true, and vulnerable. The one that is tough and scary and long.
You probably don’t see an end. And that’s okay.
It’s a leap of faith. Take it.
Believe you’ll be alright.
Turn your back to the bench. Start walking.
