Skin Splitting

I haven’t written at all this year. And here it is September.  I feel so far from that brave person who articulated thoughts, dreams, and direction nearly every month on this page. For I feel that I have done none of those things this year. I have plodded through months of uncertainty concentrating on one steady foot in front of the other. And this is no condemnation on myself, merely an observation. I am careful to avoid all words that have been used to the point of wear for this year. This year like no other. Oddly, one of tremendous change yet based on my lofty goals, no real movement. My bus is still a series of plans in several notebooks.

It’s not as though I have been idle; I have been extremely occupied. This year required flexibility, I was needed- as a mother, a colleague, and that’s where I’ve been. I regret nothing. Time is precious and I can truly say it was spent on the precious this year. In the end, my progress is judged by the fullness in my heart, which is overflowing with Loves. Therefore 2020, your demand for a detour seems appropriate. But the dream returns as an unsatisfied hunger pang- and so I turn to my writing to focus my thoughts. 

One thought that came to me the other day was: 

Why do we always compare our growth to the metamorphosis of a butterfly?

All the instars blurred together as mere development for the final, beautiful stage. And yet, there are many insects whose mid-life cycles are more valuable than their final emergence. In fact, one could argue that the final stage of the butterfly is highly valued more because we as humans can easily recognize it and find it aesthetically pleasing. 

I recently was able to spend quality time with a dear friend that I have not seen since May. She commented that she knew it was way too long- not only for nourishing our friendship but also that whenever we went long periods without seeing each other I was the type of person to go through complete metamorphosis and she knew she had to get caught up to wherever life had taken me these past months. 

And it’s true. I haven’t written in my blog since December of last year. I re-read my post, as I always do, to gain insight into where I left off the last time I was inspired to write. To see if I’ve had any shifts in viewpoint. In life trajectory. To gain perspective for my current instar. You see, I don’t believe in doggedly pursuing ANYTHING that no longer serves my growth. I don’t mean this to sound like I make 180 degree turns, but more the splitting of skin that no longer houses the next stage of growth I find myself. Some instars are merely bigger goals that mirror a previous stage, while others are seemingly complete transformations with wings or new legs with which to journey. 

So where, exactly, am I right now? I have been voraciously munching on nourishment- building strong friendships and alliances, practicing my craft in the field, and lastly moving to a new home where I feel free to relax my guard- and write again. Oh I know the mantra, write every day whether you feel it or not, but to me writing isn’t a “practice” or a “job”. It is verbal explosions that come close to these transformations, literal markers whereby I can record the next stage of my life path. These ten months were a time of necessary nurturing, an unavoidable pause to fatten up on love, both to my son, myself, and a tight circle of people that I carry in my heart. And now, I feel the skin splitting. My arms and feet aching to move in ways the previous me was incapable of doing. I don’t guarantee wings and a striking array of colors. I can’t say anyone will even recognize the change. But I feel it’s undeniable presence, as only a transient being of uncountable life stages can.