On change: a reflection

A sudden wave of fear which snuck up behind you while you were brushing your teeth.

A pang of loneliness, like standing in the rain, looking in through the window to see a flickering fire and warm laughter.

Remembering to rest, and dropping that guilt that arises like a warm flush through your body.
Over and over. And again.

Really, me? Are you sure?

Not fear of failure, but the pain of knowing the effect that a smattering of mediocre attempts would render.

Searing discomfort.

A lost opportunity before breakfast time.
And conversation; wondering if it’s divine timing or just really f*cking random.

Internal, twisted over-analysed confliction.

A first time faltering explanation, visible nerves
A second time practice
Third time improvement. Breathing.

Waves of energy and then exhaustion.
Looking back at the path with pride then the about turn to unfocused miles of endless ocean.
Sleep and food; sleep and food; occasional wipe round the sink; sleep and food.
Bereft for all that has past, and a pause in time and space before the ping of excitement that sends the first ripple of anticipation.

Deciding to let go of the birthday card, the instruction manual and the ceramic pig.

Talking gently to myself,
Stepping outside of the room for time out,
Breathing: slowly, deeply, reassuringly,
Consciously choosing -  then almost immediately, it seems -
Slipping on to that unconscious path once again, off for the rush of exhilaration to prove my point, justify my life and hold on tightly to him, it, them, that or the safety of my duvet.
The seduction by triple chocolate fudge cake
And then back:
To the moment I’m in.

Desperately ticking off the list of all the ‘big’ gratitude items,
When the smallest will more than suffice.
Removing the old dressing, which can be the sharp, whip - of the sticky plaster being yanked off you unexpectedly,
Or the day by day, inch by inch careful peeling: a less intense, but more evidently present pain.

Forgetting to buy milk, but remembering not to put myself in the dunce corner because of it.

And beginning a painting and then realising it’s too small a dream,
Pushing myself on the details,
Starting the painting anew,
Envisioning again and again and again, adding colour, taking a step back to look and then close up again for the detail.

What scares you the most? Go and do it, even if you spend the rest of your life trying.