breakthrough.
finally.
breakthrough.
“Get up and get dressed. Take one step at a time, girl. Begin a new journey each day. Email friends when a little lonely. Write. Breathe.”
Those words are like the first sweet rays of sunshine after a new moon. A breath of fresh air after a winter of being cooped up for the season. i grasped on to that message like a droaning man clings to a life raft. That is what those words are—a life raft. A message from a place where there are still feelings, expression, hope, and where life still holds mystery and adventure.
I took it for granted that I could express myself, and that I would always have an outlet and venue to do so. Being without those things has been described by some as a prison. I disagree. Without imagination, creativity, and expression, you are not locked in a jail cell, you are locked out. You sit on a perch in the dark and look through the cracks in the walls, observing everything, but participating in none of it. No one pays you heed, and no one includes you, because you have willingly uninvited yourself.
Why?
Because it’s easy—and sometimes, the easy way out looks like a shelter from the storm. a rest for the weary heart. respite from pain. sometimes the hurt you carry in your heart is too great a burden to bear. so you induce an emotional coma. once the feelings stop, you tell yourself, life can begin again. and it does … sort of.
But not really.
Because you’re no longer fighting … pushing … surviving. You’re numb, flat, and dare I say it—quite dull. If you’re not fighting, and if you’ve lost that hunger that drives you headlong into adventure and risk, you lose the spark inside of you that makes you feel alive.
For the first time in months, I feel it inside me. It’s a physical sensation. I am waking up. It’s spring. It’s time for me to blossom again. It’s time for my words to come alive again, and it’s time for me to enjoy the fight once more. The fight made me tough, hungry, and beautiful. I love the fight, and I’ve missed it so much.
