I know this feeling because I have felt it before. It doesn’t come around very often but when it does it’s impossible to shake. An old way of being in the world no longer fits. It is time to shed skin, scales dropping from eyes. For a long time, too long really – which is on me, I admit – I have tried to cut myself off from the farthest reaches of myself.
In the short term, it serves some relative comfort. For one thing, it’s easy on those around you because they aren’t forced to have to adjust to whatever the hell you become that upsets their plans for themselves. And lord knows inconveniencing anyone is not something I like to do. Women learn this very young and many stick to it because we get rewarded for that. Just not in ways we ever asked for and not in ways that help us. They throw you a bunch of cupcakes when what you crave is nourishment.
In the long term, though, and I do know this intellectually even as it is rather quite difficult in actual practice, refusal to grow means a slow sorry death without any hope of the sheer ecstasy of rebirth. It is a withering. Of spirit, soul, heart, and mind, all of which are required to have blood, energy, and life pulsing through them if one is to have any hope of remaining a creative force in the world. And creativity is everything to me.
All around, people will soon begin their chatter about a new year and some kind of resolution or another. Perhaps it is an energy which is in the air. The desire to close. To transform. The electricity of the potential for a metamorphosis. A re-emergence as something new but also, in simpler terms, a blossoming into the next version of the self you were born to become all along.
If you believe it is within you to break free of old ideologies and modes of operation, what else can you do but pursue that path. Blow things to bits. Annihilate. Leave behind. Burn bridges which lead back to paths already traveled and deemed dead ends.
If you are always trying to fit into what no longer fits, you exhaust yourself. Jumping up and down in an unflattering attempt to shove your legs into the pants. Flailing about trying to get your arms through the holes. In the end you find yourself half covered, half exposed, and thus feeling neither warm nor comfortable. Nor sexy. Neither naked nor clothed, half begun and half neglected, while fully unlike yourself entirely.