I saw a quote recently: to love is to fall in love twice, once with the perfection that you see at the start, and secondly with the less than perfect interior that was always hiding beneath. The thing which I am learning at this moment is that it is not possible to fall in love with a person’s imperfections until you have first fallen in love with your own. It has been almost two months since I have arrived in France, and I have not had the heart to pick up my pen and write every day like I used to. In these two months, I have been staring at my own imperfections closely in the mirror and I have not always loved what I have seen.
Not only have I not been writing but I have also isolated myself a great deal from what my life used to be when I came to France before, from who I used to be. I have changed, the old me is not coming back and I do not really know how to reconcile this as yet. However, today I have found the courage to write again. And I hope to continue this as I once used to. I hope that, even if I am not coming out of this period of change any time soon, I can find a space within my heart to write about it. Because change is important, and feeling lost is important. Most of our lives involve living in the space between big moments. Wanting something more than what we have, trying to be grateful, perhaps working hard or trying to cope as much as we can with what life is giving us. In some cases trying to cope with the consequences of our own choices, of our own once desired set of circumstances.
I feel that life has been a little like this for me, did I really expect everything to be rosey and work out okay the moment I landed in France? It was not ever something that crossed my mind because I was so consumed in the running after it, that the moment of achievement has caught me unprepared and struggling to cope. That was the first month after my arrival anyway. Simultaneously grateful and feeling that I had attained something that I was not quite ready to follow through on. But that is the rhythm of life, I have since learned.
We meet resistance and we wade our way through it, as explained by one of my professors at law school. I remember her words very well, even though she has probably long forgot saying them. She was a lawyer, but also an artist very interested in theatre and acting. She would tell us all that starting a law degree is like being dumped in a swamp. You need to wade through the muddy waters, slowly and patiently, even though every step feels like you are fighting against gravity itself. Be a professional, even though you are a student, and turn up every day to do your study. Earnestly and with a sincere heart. Then take the rest you need and start again the next day, not taking care about goals or outcomes. The advice comes to mind because it mirrors a book I have read recently by Steven Pressfield called The War of Art.
At this moment, I am walking through the thick of resistance. And it is getting easier, and it is feeling very much worth it as well. A sign that I am on the right path. Indeed, as Pressfield says, that meeting resistance in some way tells you that you are progressing. You are walking into new territory, exploring an undiscovered part of yourself. The key is to approach this force in an emotionally intelligent way. Of course, Pressfield talks about art. To separate yourself from your art emotionally, view it as a job, so that you can take criticism, adapt and earn a living from providing something that is of value to not only yourself but also to others. To do this without betraying the authenticity of who you are, which sometimes adjusts so often that you can only know yourself at a moments notice.
The same is true for anything in life. Whether it’s moving to another country, welcoming a new relationship in your life, starting a new career or learning to love yourself again. Perhaps it’s all four. Move at a pace that is comfortable for you, but do not stop moving. Show up every day, be professional, know that you are inherently worthy no matter how others react to you. The reaction of others is never a reflection of your value, only a reflection of what they think their own value is. At this moment, I’m going through all these changes and maybe more. I have lived in three different places, living out the elephant’s tail of my nomadic life and transitioning into another: where I get to make my own home. Finally. Home.
These last two months, I have learned that if I truly want to make my home on the outside, I cannot force it. I must learn to make my home on the inside first. I must fall in love with myself twice. The last eight years, I have admittedly, largely been trying to focus on my talents which have always felt so out of reach. I’ve been glossing over the parts of which I felt ashamed. Now, in two months, as all of my plans had fallen beneath my feet, I decided to fall with it. I decided to make a new life, a new career, in a new language, with a new person by my side, and importantly with the complete, unwavering support of myself. I am less willing to play second place in someone else’s story now, even though it is a habit that I have still not yet fully shaken. Now, I remind myself more often that if I don’t live my own life, then it will wither out and die long before my body does.
This is the start of doing things my way, no compromises, and trusting that I have all I need right at this moment. The people, the places, the things… this is what I need to learn how to live in life’s ever changing faces. Centred, stable, riding the waves, like a surfer who risks being pulled out by the tide of the ocean just for the thrill of connecting with nature. It’s time to fall in love, twice, with the same person who’s always been there and will always be there.
Leave a Reply