“The most important thing is to hold on, hold out, for your creative life, for your solitude, for your time to be and do, for your very life; hold on, for the promise from the wild nature is this: after winter, spring always comes.” ~ Clarissa Pinkola Estés
Death comes quickly and unexpectedly, sometimes exasperating slow. Death is sharp as a knife or nothing more than a salvation. It’s true, life is over before we know it. Not only our own lives, but also the lives of the ones we love dearly.
Life is a wondrous and bittersweet gift that gives us wings the times we feel light and free and brings us down the moments heaviness pulls at us. One day we will fall down and we will decide to pick ourselves up again. A loved one just died, illness gets under our skin, a relationship belongs no longer to the here and now, dreams are burried, loneliness creeps in or a troubled child causes grief. Maybe sooner than we think, maybe later, but at some point we all meet dark days in our life.
Last month I was celebrating my birthday and after 42 years I find myself asking questions about life more than ever. My new age has introduced some restless times with true life questions to ponder: Do I really do the things that matter to me? Do I live my life the way I truly want it? Do I have dreams? What am I doing to achieve them? Who am I?
The thought of the finitude of life and wasting it to things that don’t really matter to me, preoccupies me. I dream about the past where my future felt limitless and where life as a woman in her forties still seemed unimaginably far away. Adolescense didn’t have a huge grip on me, I was a happy, easy-going teenager, but this new stage in life (my forties) does. The doubt and the fear of unchased dreams don’t go away. They won’t die. They die only if my life ends this very moment. My forties want to tell me something and I rather sit down and start listening.
As soon as I start to think that I love my life, still I’m not living it exactly how I want it, a deeper feeling of unworthiness, of shame even, enters my thoughts. What on earth are you complaining about? You have everything you need!
My dream is to write, to spend most of my precious time here on things that matter to me. I’m dreaming of a life filled with creative expression, inspiring conversation and enriching encounters. That’s nothing to feel ashamed about. Maybe I won’t be good enough, but I will never know as long as I don’t write.
Being in my forties has led to this new discovery which will be the gateway to a new phase in life. But where do I need to start? How do I make that change that enables my dreams to become reality?
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