I feel on the cusp of a big change.
My life currently looks like a polaroid that was just taken but hasn’t fully developed yet. After taking the snapshot, it needs to sit in the dark so the chemical reaction can happen without the interference of light. During those five to ten minutes, the results have yet to be revealed, one can only hope that the memory has been captured.
So I’m standing in the dark, or as a wise friend calls it “waiting in the hallway.” It’s too early to get either excited or disappointed about whatever may come. Being in the in-between is my least favorite spot. I like to know where I land, rather than feel suspended. I prefer definitive feelings (whether they’re positive or negative), rather than the anxiety of the unknown.
Whenever I’m in those phases, I tend to feel “stuck.” It’s unclear what decision to make or move to take. The cards haven’t been dealt so I’m not sure how to place my bet. I tend to freeze, oscillating between wanting leisurely time or being extra productive. Indecision leads to inaction: I end up doing neither or attempting both unsuccessfully. The down-time isn’t fully relaxed and the up-time isn’t quite focused.
The irony is that most – if not all – of life consists of in-between periods. From the moment we’re born, we undergo tremendous changes. There’s the literal growing pains of early childhood when our bones are stretching us out in new directions, causing major discomfort. There’s the awkward phase of our teenage years, when we’ve outgrown the innocence of childhood but haven’t quite morphed into our adult selves.
When we finally arrive at the long heralded stage of adulthood, we continue to experience major upheavals: moving to new cities, changing careers, starting families, etc. We keep going through huge waves of transformation, and occasionally coast through tranquil waters.
Even when we seem to be in a relatively steady stage (a steady job, no family crisis, a stable home), change is always happening. Even if we follow a rigid routine, the present moment can’t ever be replicated. The taste of our morning coffee is never quite the same, the weather temperature fluctuates, we receive an unexpected email.
It’s not only the outside world that is unpredictable and continuously in flux. Our own body and mind is constantly evolving. I’ve often heard that we’re a new person every seven to ten years, as our body creates new cells every decade. It turns out the facts are a bit more complex yet nonetheless fascinating. Not all of our cells regenerate at the same speed. Our skin and blood changes everyday, but our muscles take several years. Other cells, in our heart, eyes and brain last for a lifetime. We’re a mix of old and new.
Changes that appear on the surface are easy to perceive: like the growth spurt that seemingly took place overnight or gray hair that sprouts out of nowhere. But most of our transformation is quiet, interior, imperceptible.
The same goes for all areas of our life. We tend to only notice when we experience major shake-ups, instead of the micro shifts that are continually happening. Just like the earth beneath us, life is always rotating, whether we feel it or not.
There’s no need to hold our breath until we reach full stability, we’re here to shake and move, to decompose and regenerate. There is no arrival point, only a constant in-between.
For this week’s Present Sense, I share some sensory bits and bobs that have caught my attention this week, with something to SEE, HEAR, SMELL, TASTE, TOUCH, BALANCE, and ENVISION.
In Joy,
Sabrina
