Having gotten to a stage in life where everything had fallen into place, I stupidly mistook my happy place for real wholeness and personal transformation. And then, because my brain told me that it was the smart and responsible thing to do, I made a small change. Nothing drastic, just a tweak; insurance of a sort. Knowing myself pretty well (or so I thought) I expected there to be an adjustment period and maybe that is all this is, but truthfully it feels far more disconcerting. I don't think I was prepared for how overwhelming old demons, unexpectedly resurrected, can be. Recognizing that what I thought was real and substantive growth as merely the soft cushion of avoidance is so totally disheartening. It would seem that mental health, happiness, and self actualization in my case is wholly dependent upon my not leaving the house. I can own that, I guess. Deep down I've always known that I'm a hermit and I like being a hermit. I guess what is really bothering me is that I imagined myself to be able to set that part of myself aside at will; that it was a choice, a preference, something within my control. In truth it doesn't appear to be. Writing this is helping me to accept it as an intrinsic part of my very nature. And, if I was one of those people who propounds embracing adversity as a path toward “self improvement” than this might be an exciting opportunity. But I'm not. To me, living life as a series of obstacles to be overcome, to try to fix what is not broken, is a complete waste of time. I am more of the mind that to practice gratitude, to quietly embrace ourselves and this existence, and, as Alice Walker wrote, to appreciate the color purple, is the healthier more fulfilling path. I feel better now. Thanks.
