Yesterday in therapy we were talking about what feels compelling right now, what is sparking joy. Right now there are three things: the Enneagram, the puzzle C got me for my birthday, and decluttering and organizing.
C and I agreed the other day that the energy in the house feels stale. Between the pandemic, C being so dreadfully sick for so long, the necessary accumulation of both healthcare supplies and everything we needed to cope, and us having relatively recently moved in before the pandemic hit, things need to be aired out.
It’s figurative, but it’s also literal. Books I’ll never read again, clothes that are no longer right, supplies for hobbies I once loved and doubt I’ll pick back up, papers I’ve moved through (at least) three states. Sometimes the best way to move energy is to move stuff.
As I told my therapist, so much of this felt like stuff I was holding onto because I wasn’t sure who I was, exactly, or who I would grow into. Now, though, I feel clear, and it’s time to make space for the person I’m growing into.
It’s fucking scary. I’m a person who learned early on to be malleable, to not hold too strongly to anything, for all kinds of reasons. And if academia was illegible to my science/business focused family, well, the Enneagram is entirely beyond their sense of the appropriate. These days, so much of my life, including our furniture (velvet! Bright colors!) is beyond their sense of the appropriate. They honestly don’t even know how much.
It’s scary to say “this, this is who I am” and have no exit. It’s felt safer to have an exit. But I’ll be 50 this year — it’s time to grow into myself.
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