This new project is stretching me in ways I’d never imagined. It’s terrifying and wonderful and overwhelming.
I can feel my brain adjusting neural pathways as its pushed to produce strange connections at faster speeds. There’s a soreness in my soul as its pulled in different directions, increasing my flexibility and resilience.
This is what growth feels like.
It’s not the warm and fuzzy expansion that self-help sites praise, as though we’re cocooned in soft silk before metamorphosis and gentle fluttery emergence.
No, this is the systematic breaking down of the very fabric of my being, as life hurriedly reforms me with the finesse of a toddler reshaping a cracking lump of Play-Doh. The older I get, the more cracks accrue and the more pieces fall away, but I’m still changing. And therein lies the beauty of this messy business.
My change is eternal. My atoms will reassemble after death and continue their shapeshifting until the end of time. Perhaps our experience of change is the closest we get to immortality.