Have you ever felt forced out of your space, be it your home, your mind, your body, or your spirit? I have.
It was uncomfortable, disheartening, disenchanting, unsettling—downright miserable. At some point during the constructive eviction process, I begin wondering how did I get here—to this new place that feels much like a plateau or abyss, either with no apparent steps to ascension in sight.
If you have been there, then you know you begin weighing all of your missteps, mistakes, misgivings, and any other downfalls, faults, or flaws.
You start counting all of the circumstances that prohibit you from rising out of the rut you feel you have dug for yourself or had dug for your compromising.
You ponder endlessly over the lack of resources you possess that could propel you far beyond the desolation, desperation, and depression that surrounds you or engulfs you.
You have yet to see the light, the sunshine peeking or gleaming through the trees because you are only focusing on the dark, foreboding expanses of the wilderness of life.
Yes, that has been me, many, many moons.
Ultimately, I had to acknowledge the light—focus on its illumination, and move ever-toward its brilliance—no matter how much it seemed to elude me. I found myself many times chasing the light over the horizon. Even when night settled in, I knew I had to keep moving in the direction the light traveled. I had to accept that no matter how dark and ominous the forest grew, the sun would rise again.
Eventually, I stopped chasing the light, not because I no longer desired its illumination and warmth, but because I knew I was never without it. I knew it would find me. I remembered a part of it always remained with me. Like staring into the darkness of a grove of trees, not seeing the rays of ultraviolet sunlight beaming from above— I realized that the light would be there whether I was looking in the wrong direction or not patient enough to perceive its presence in the darkness.
You still have my love,