the value of stuff

What with life as it is, it’s hardly surprising that I’ve been confronted by some stuff lately. Hard stuff. Dark stuff. Can’t-be-ignored stuff. Stuff I would rather look at on my own terms, thank you very much.

It seems I don’t get to choose though.

In my experience, this is precisely the kind of time that Stuff happens. It lurks under the surface, waiting opportunistically to blindside you when you’re distracted and maybe a little vulnerable. Waiting for its chance to challenge and unsettle.

In the thick of it, the upheaval that Stuff causes seems to drag on. And on. It’s intense, all that angst, restlessness and discomfort. Thankfully, it can often fizzle as quickly as it flares.

But, ultimately, it’s a good thing for Stuff to rear its head and offer up these hazy fork-in-the-road moments. It forces you to consider your direction and whether you should continue heading that way. An emotional growth spurt, of sorts.

It can be utterly redefining.

This is the first time I’ve been so aware of being smack-bang in the middle of change. It feels different. So do I, even in the throes of it. It’s unknown and terrifying and exciting all at once. I’m being alerted to it in all sorts of unexpected ways: a burning need for a bedroom makeover. A new puppy. Organising of finances. Less reserve. More mind-speaking. Some letting go. Maybe just a little hardening.

And, in the mess of it all, somehow I know I need all of that. It’s liberating.

I can pinpoint a handful of times when Stuff has revealed itself and irreversibly altered my course – and me – in some small, important way. Moving out of home; travelling and living overseas; having a baby. And – now – separating.

I haven’t always dealt with Stuff well, but I know that, in the end, I’ve always learned something.

This will be no different, I’m sure.

 

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