Choosing to Stand Still

My heart has been screaming go again lately. Screaming, I tell you.

It’s a familiar feeling – the same sort of “let’s remix this business” feeling that propelled me get into a car and drive across the country and back with a filmmaker. The same sort of feeling that urges me to find a new apartment. The same sort of feeling that urgently whispers change change change! whenever a moment isn’t comfortable.

For whatever reason, I’ve always believed in forward motion. I may not be sure which God or Goddess or Budda or jelly donut to pray to (so I pray to ’em all) but by golly do I have all the faith in the universe when it comes to movement. Somewhere along the way, I equated physical change with creating space in my soul, and never bothered to re-evaluate that formula.

So even though I’m pretty sure my heart is screaming so loudly there’s likely a zebra dove in Bali tilting her head to try and make sense of the noise, I’m not going to make any rash movement. Instead, I’d like to notice my heart screaming. Heck, I’d like to kindly notice her, and listen to her with compassion.

Tell me, I’ll say to her. Use your words. I imagine like a gasping child, she’ll first be frustrated I didn’t immediately appease her. Hopefully once the shock wears off and she realizes I mean business, she’ll start to speak.

It’s a different sort of remix. Don’t get me wrong: I’m grateful for that wandering, that change. I’ve loved most every second of it. But all that forward motion could really be seen as running away – another one of those pesky fear-based decisions I’ve been in the habit of making.

Just this once, let’s see what happens when I stand still.

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