For some days now, I feel like there has been much I want to say. It’s been percolating beneath the surface. Try as I might, though, I can’t put the words together. They’re just not there … yet.
Instead, I’m sharing this passage about endings from John O’Donohue’s To Bless the Space Between Us. It feels particularly relevant given the year that’s been.
I love a good mystery be it a book, a TV series, or a movie. Where I haven't always loved mystery is in my personal life. Uncertainty feels unsafe. There’s something unsettling and ungrounded when I’m in that liminal space; or as Mastin Kipp calls it “living in the maybe.” I don’t know is just a hard place to be.
I crave space and function best when I give myself the space I need. Here’s the tricky thing about space, though: It’s often uncomfortable. We’re socialized to be busy, to fill every possible moment so we appear productive, valuable, and successful—and believe that we are. When confronted with space, we avoid it.
Waiting means a lot of uncertainty. I’m not a fan of uncertainty. It requires patience, which only makes me want to grasp at or push at things to get them moving. Uncertainty makes me uncomfortable.
A wise woman I know told me that uncertainty means embracing discomfort. Really, who wants to embrace discomfort?!
