
I am writing this to the incessant and arrhythmic sound of hammering coming in the (closed) windows from the house next door. My morning peace has been disrupted by the installation of a new (and very needed) roof.
OH! Just this second, another noise has been added. Something unrecognizable but nerve devouring! YAY.
It is on this morning that I have had scheduled for months the task of ordering bus tickets and a hotel room and generally organizing the travel that is coming up very quickly.
Anxiety inducing activity +
anxiety inducing noise =
One. Very. Stressed. Chick.
anxiety inducing noise =
One. Very. Stressed. Chick.
If you've not noticed yet, I am not good at this travel thing. I don't do it. But in order to spread my wings and fly, as I have determined to do this year, I must leave my comfort zones and push my edges.
After an hour or so of fighting with various websites and trying to understand the hours involved in bus travel, I have my printed out confirmations.
You would think I could now breathe easier, but all of this has just brought up the extreme feelings I have toward this thing called "Change."
Ugh.
I am filled with utter and complete joy at having rediscovered my love of dance. I am thrilled with the commitment and other good things that have come of this rediscovery.
I am happier and more content than I have ever been.
But any change is difficult. It's the nature of change. I have been readying myself for the reality of this to not just settle in but hit me with its full force. And today it has.
I hear the nagging voice in the back of my head every single day:
Go back to your life in your secluded garret, writing poems and touching the world only virtually. It's safe there...the world is scary...
Every single day, I ignore that voice and go about my (new) business.
But today that voice was just screaming:
See! I told you! It's so very hard! How hard do you think the travel will actually be! You have huge layovers in New York City! That's a big scary place! What could happen to you...
SQUASH.
With the flat hand of my willpower, I squash her, yet her voice remains, muffled, but still present.
What voices do you have to learn to ignore in order to realize your precious and fragile dreams?
(Photo & Text Copyright: Christine C. Reed, blisschick.net, 2009)














