Transitions

Sometimes it is tempting to hide away in safe places and never risk anything. I'm not a fan of pain.

I'm trying to fight my need for stability, regularity and to be just a little unsafe, to take the road less travelled... it would be easier to remain a captive of my own fears. I know I could do it. Life would even be okay, in the scheme of things. But that's the thing, isn't it? Life would be... OK...

And I keep thinking that all of us are miracles, and how easy it is to take the miracle of our existence for granted. Here we are - formed out of dust and particles and a strange, intricate, mysterious, pandemic swirl of consciousness... we're on this planet, alive. How easy it is to throw this miracle away.

And yet, life is such a miracle - is there anyway that it can be wasted? I think I take myself far too seriously and that's part of the problem, really.

But I keep on thinking of Aesop's fable about the wild, skinny wolf. He lives by his wits and often starves and envies the fat, well-fed dog until he notices the chain around his neck. But the wolf can easily be romanticised and to take risks can be more hazardous than those nice, neat little allegories would have any of us believe.

And motherhood - it's not only my own security I need to consider. It is even more tempting to take the safe route. But I watched my parents, held captive in a life they chose out of duty to us - we felt the legacy of their loss. Do I want my son to suffer a similar fate?