Today I am living in the thick forest of my imagination. Sometimes I stumble upon a meadow of wildflowers in here, sometimes I find hidden medicine beneath the trees, and every now and then I step right into a pile of shit.
I know this place well. I’ve spent years living here, perhaps, even more, time here than in the ‘real world.’ Sometimes I snap myself out of the daydream in my head to a perplexing reality. My forest is often much more luxurious than my physical reality, it’s far more intriguing, and definitely more fun. At any given moment it can whisk me away to its intoxicating land. Even as I type this words I feel it pulling on my leg pleading, “come play with me!”
These daydreams may seem like an escape from reality, but I believe they are far more meaningful than a route out of town. It’s here in this world that I have learned exactly how to be myself. Here in this world I have created and destroyed so many versions of my life. Here in this world, I watch myself die, decay, and rot, then rise again as a whole new being.
This is precisely what I am witnessing today as I romp through the thick brush. Peering out over the edge of a fallen tree, I see her. There she is, grasping for air, hand reaching for the heavens, pleading, “please don’t let me die.”
It’s my job right now to study her. I cannot offer any assistance, it’s her time to go. All I can do is watch, listen, and do what I can to understand her.
This is the most uncomfortable part of growth. The space between what was and what will be. The old way is dying, the new way has not been born. Oh yes, I am here, I am standing, but I have not yet been born. The me that is watching is a hollow shell waiting for life to enter. The me that is watching is as innocent as an embryo. What do I know about life in this physical world? Nothing yet.
This is the most uncomfortable part of growth.