A life of meaning and purpose comes with a price.
It requires disruption.
My disruption.
It demands I stretch.
It asks for change.
That’s mostly uncomfortable.
It’s work.
The hard kind.
The kind that earns its name.
It requires that I stop what no longer fits.
Stop thinking, relating, acting
in the ways that are a previous version of me.
My survival system pushes back.
Staying the same is safe.
No change signals no alarms.
My routine will eventually signal ache.
The hum beneath my habits.
There’s something more than staying safe.
Something available in the space safe provides.
That’s the hint of meaning and purpose.
Mine should come with a warning label:
Area Under Construction.
All things may appear as threat.
I am changing.
It’s more than psychological.
It’s biological.
Mine to own and to have compassion for.
Biology explains it.
It doesn’t excuse it.
Or solve it.
Forgiveness has been described as
letting go of the hope for a better yesterday.
Growth has a parallel echo.
Letting go of the delusion of a painless tomorrow.
Fear is signal of the cost of becoming.
Signaling what remodeling feels like.
The burning of the crumbs in the toaster.
I opted in.
Willingly.
Enthusiastically.
I packed my safety gear.
That’s the work.
That’s the philosophy.
That’s a mission worth redeeming.