Interlude

As I begin to collect my wandering thoughts, I'm sitting here reflecting on this past year. It's been a mixture of ups, downs, turnarounds, pitfalls, drawn out periods of stagnation, confusion as well as growth, learning and forward movement. 

Some unforeseen changes came and went and then came back again. Some new beginnings and a few endings. I quit a fairly long-term job, started a job, left that job, started another job and began massage therapy school. 

The fear has never left. Nor, has the overwhelming feeling of not being good enough, in over my head, or unable to find solid ground. I haven't stopped running or fleeing in fear of my own shadow. I haven't done a lot of things. 

And yet, here I am nearing the end of this year, feeling as though I am not the same person that entered into 2016. Some dreams have withered. Others have been watered down. And, a few are growing, itching to break through the cold, dry earth. 

But, it is not time. 

Patience, they tell me. 

Patience with these hopes and dreams. Patience with all that has been and all that has yet to come. 

I am growing. 

Like a newly planted seed, my heart reaches toward the sunlight. 

But, the seed is not ready to break free. I am wondering when I will break free. Break free from the fear, anxiety, control, depression, darkness, and cages that have continuously kept me small. When the monotonous routine will finally break. When I may break. 

I have broke. Many times. This year and those preceding. I am not without my brokenness, my humanness. Though, I may wish to be free of it. To withdraw into some cloud of enlightenment and bliss. Yet, the further I propel into this, the further I fall right back down the hole, always reaching to be set free again. 

Accept. But I can't accept. It feels like efforting myself into submission. So, here I write of this year as though it is over. But, it is not. It's a prelude to what is to come. It's an acknowledgement of the growth and strength I have acquired. To myself. To you. To no one. 

It's an interlude.

Before the next act. And, how I yearn for the rawness beneath the act. And, fear it at the same time. Maybe, not having the words to speak to this moment is okay. Maybe, this moment is enough without needing to quantify, qualify or describe it. Maybe, I can just sit with the knowing that I have done enough. 

I can rest, for now. 

I can breathe, for now.

All will be well when I return.

For now,

I rest

And restore.

It is enough.