WARNING The following was written by a deathly ill person with broken glasses. It is unclear if any of the following is coherent or… er… yeah. Proceed of your own free will and choice.
So today, I was thinking… in the last few weeks, I have come to the conclusion that—growth, strength of character, healing and true happiness, cannot be found within the walls of comfort.
It just can’t be done.
If you want to grow, if you want to find out who you are and what your purpose is, if you want to heal, if you want to discover true happiness, you’ve got to get uncomfortable. You’ve got to face down fears. You must step outside the walls of what is familiar and waltz into the unknown.
Because, simply, in order to reach these wonderful things, you must stretch and shift and change. You can’t grow into what you are meant to be, and not expect to change. A seed doesn’t become a tree, with fruit and branches, without change.
You can’t keep doing the exact same things you’re doing right now, and expect life to somehow become what you want it to be. Whatever you’ve been doing, it’s going to continue to give you the same results you have now. If you want things to change, then you’re going to have to do something different.
This doesn’t mean that changing is going to immediately bring about desired results. Absolutely not. I hear about this. I hear about folks who say, “I tried to change but it didn’t do anything for me,” and then immediately revert back to their old, comfortable ways. Well, of course it’s not going to do anything if you give up. Results require more than just a sliver of time. It requires permanent change, it requires hope, and it requires faith, and it requires constant diligence. The change needed, needs to become a way of life.
For example (this is what’s been on my mind lately and made me realize all of this), I think about how I wanted to write a book. I wanted it so much because writing made me happy, and I loved the characters, and wanted to help people. The only way I could do it, was to change. To make writing a part of my everyday life. I had to keep my faith, that I would love it even if no one else did. It was the most terrifying and uncomfortable thing I have ever done.
And much of what I feared would happen, has. I’ve been told by people that the characters and story are absurd, ridiculous and dull. That I ramble too much. That, while well-meaning, I just wasn’t brave enough in my writing.
I’ve cried over it a lot. I’ve wanted to throw in the towel and say, “Well, I tried and it just didn’t work for me.” But, through God’s help and the help of caring, wonderful loved ones, I’ve realized something true that I’d only had faith in before.
That I love my story. And wrote exactly what I meant to. It was never meant for everyone, just for the people it speaks to, and I’m good with that. And I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be, doing what I’m supposed to be doing.
And so I’m definitely going to be finishing this next book.
I couldn’t have learned these things without that discomfort. Without stretching and breaking. Without stepping outside the walls of comfort and doing something SO freaking scary and hard.
I also think about my mental health, and the changes I’ve had to make to heal. I think about my marriage, the rough times we’ve been through and the changes we’ve both had to make as we chose us, as we chose to forgive and love each other over and over again, and chose to do kind, awesome things for each other. I think of how Paul accepts me for who I am, which can’t always be comfortable for him, what with my Halloween-all-year-long lifestyle, but he does it. And man, we have an awesome marriage and friendship because of those choices.
To have true happiness, to heal, to grow—it’s uncomfortable. It’s scary.
But man, it’s worth it.