Some time around the middle of the day, I was exhausted for any number of reasons I could choose from, so I stretched out for a few minutes with Miss Sophie supervising. She’s really good at that. The Fella was home, and the littles were working on their lessons, so I had a few minutes to close my eyes.
It was one of those weird, not quite deep, slumbers where I’m aware but also resting. Hard to explain. I was dreaming of sorts, I think, when I felt myself being pulled back up to the surface.
In that moment, this thought crossed my mind as the image of our backyard swing came into focus in my head.
It hardly makes sense, does it, as to why change is so hard for one who loved the back and forth and up and down of sitting in a swing? How is it that so much is terrifying and worrisome when going higher than ever before used to bring such thrills? Why is a leap into the unknown so frightful at times, when leaping from a moving swing filled all around with laughter and cries for “Again! Again!”?
Turns out my life is so much like being on a swing. So what is the difference from then when I loved it so much to now?
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that on that swing I was controlling the “how high” and most of the time I could stop the swing when I wanted to and come back to stillness–to the balance found exactly in the middle of front and back, to and fro, forwards and backwards.
If y’all need me, I’ll be in the backyard. Looking for some of that.
Love to all.