A streak of lightning pierces the sky, In the back of my head thunder roars and as a response rain starts to pour down. I look at it, delighted, relieved. Finally, there is new air to breath. Finally the tension is pouring down and the pressure released. Finally.
It has taken me months of silence to find my way back here. And here I am. A stranger in a new country. A published author. A child. A woman. Running like crazy. Still learning how to walk. Weeks pass with my thoughts put on hold, to busy to make space for the rivers of emotion. Days follow, wandering around, hoping for a new adventure, a way to escape.
And then I realize, it’s all part of the process I am in. Settling.
Ah, settling. Who wants to do that, right? Living in the same place for years, decades, a life time. Knowing the same people. Never going anywhere. Just being right there.
Sounds so boring to me. So instead I have refused. I have stayed here, in the same place for five months and not settled. Sure, I have settled a bit. But not really. Only just because I am scared. For, what will happen if I do really settle? Will I become just like the others, who one day settled down and never started moving again? Will I lose my zeal for life? My love for adventures? My liveliness? The craziness to just do whatever I like, make dreams come true and go for it?
No, I won’t. Why would I think that? Because fear always comes creeping right in.
It’s never far away. Always ready to come and interrupt.
But the truth is.. settling is not boring. It’s an adventure in itself! Staying, sticking around, getting roots, growing deep friendships, laughing and crying together.
So here I am, watching a thunderstorm. Surrounded by memories on how I use to go outside in a storm like this and just let the rain pour down on me, until I would have goose bumps all over and be soaked. Allowing the memories to come, making new ones.
Step by step, learning how to walk.