This is a blog I’ve been trying to write for a couple weeks
now. Every time I feel like I’m going in
a good direction I find myself backspacing, literally backspacing. Sometimes I wish I could paint a better
picture, be a better storyteller, but who I am is someone with vague amounts of
insight that come to light at random times.
And that’s good. That’s
enough.
During my masters program we learned the word “isomorphic”. While it would thrill me to let you struggle
with its concept and have the experience of learning, for the sake of this blog
I need to explain it a bit. Isomorphic
basically means that everything we do or say, says something about us and I
mean everything. It’s much easier to
spot isomorphism’s in other people, it’s not so easy however to spot them for
ourselves.
Recently Oklahoma was hit with two days of sleet. In some parts of the state it knocked out
power, toppled trees, and shut down roads. Where I live it wasn’t so bad. Tree limbs littered the ground and gave many
in the area a reason to break out their chainsaws but overall we survived with
little issue.
One evening the frozen rain had finally let up and I went
out to take my dog Danny Boy on a long walk.
The trees glistened in the streetlights, the grass crunched under my
feet, but the streets and sidewalks were clear.
On the backside of our apartment is a small set of four concrete
steps. As Danny Boy ran down them to
head towards our home I suddenly realized how slow I was moving, how careful I
was being. I was taking the steps one at
a time. Safely putting one foot down
before allowing another foot to join it.
Once I realized what I was doing I just stopped, exhaled a long breath,
and thought, “Is this what I am?”
Your body language is hard to argue with and in rare moments
of clarity it can shine a light on the most vulnerable parts. I am a cautious human. Some of my friends have referred to me as a
crock-pot. I take my time when
considering important decisions and trust that when its time for me to know
what to do I will. I’m slow to anger (most
times), and I can just be with people as they are without trying to move them
or change them to fit my own comforts.
These are the traits I’m proud of, the parts of myself where my cautious
disposition serves me well.
There is a side of being cautious that doesn’t serve me, in
fact I would say it keeps me bond to myself.
Being careful when necessary is common sense. Being careful because your afraid of what
might happen is anxiety. It’s
self-preserving in excess. Sometimes
falling is necessary. Sometimes what we
need is to be unsafe. To walk into
unfamiliar territory and face the insecurities that live in our bones. Sometimes that’s how life starts.
I’m letting this idea create new pathways in my mind; I want
it to become a more permanent part of my thinking. But I’m a good crock-pot, so it’s going to
take me some time and that’s okay, that’s enough. Just to know that something needs to shift,
just to know that it’s time to get uncomfortable, just to know that the spirit
within you is restless.
That’s enough.
