It’s Time For Me to Move Out
Out of my head, that is.
I have a long-entrenched tendency when things get difficult of retreating deep into the recesses of the thinky place. It’s a comfortable place for me where I can maintain the illusion of being able to out-deliberate any problem and I can pretend that I am in control.
And it’s a lie.
It’s the security blanket that keeps me from getting all panicky and catastrophic. The analysis keeps me at a safe distance, as though I’m giving advice rather than being the one who needs to accept it.
It’s the remnants of the, “If I try hard enough, nobody will leave me again,” as I exert mental effort through my actions in a twisted game of barter.
It’s the voice that tells me that I can always do more. Be more. And has trouble receiving the moment.
It’s the tightened grip on the handlebars, having trouble letting go and trusting in the balance of the ride.
I’ve allowed myself to again get too busy. Too stretched.
Time to move out.
And explore once more.