Forced Into Freedom…Possibly the Only Path

“I used to have intense guilt for craving creative freedom – and then life forced me to go solo and I learned in one fell swoop that my guilty craving was a very divine calling – with all the rewards I was hankering for.” – Danielle LaPorte – www.whitehottruth.com

That could’ve been a page from my journal (the sentiment… but, oh, that I had crafted that sentence. Meandering though it is, it’s sheer inguistically irreverent poetry!) Wanting what we want means threatening what we have. And our status quo-seeking inner lizards fight tooth and claw to keep us keepin’ on with the tchotchkes, alliances, routines, and ruts we know. The longing for something fresher, more real, more alive often sounds – by the time we hear it – like a pipe dream: unrealistic and not strong enough to bear its own weight.

But when we’re booted, seemingly against our will, out of the cozy confines of our old world and into the bright cold light of our next chapter – and doesn’t life have a way of ALWAYS kicking us from where we were comfy complacent hiding to the place where our vitality, creativity, and service sizzle? When has the safe hiding place ever turned out to actually be a sanctuary rather than a prison? – creative freedom stands up, the ever-patient muse who was there waiting while we clung to our shackles.  ”So glad you’ve found me,” she purrs with a sly, sultry smile.

I’m feeling humbled this week. Grounded. Centered in my life and my business. Serving on a personal level, not a corporate level, leadership team level. Helping with problems of spiritual evolution, of sustainability, of power and energy dissipated and contained. Not of marketing strategy or “landing” messages with staff. Free to talk transcendental trash, to mosh mystic. Alive to the work I came to do. And gawky and awkward as a newborn foal. All is as it should be. Comfortable, no. But free. Creative. And creatively free.

Part of me prays for the day when I can step deliberately into new chapters like this. But another part of me observes that it’s the nature of our blind spots to blind us… so we don’t even SEE the doorway to step through… until we’re shoved through it. So maybe the best I can do is fall lightly… roll like a master stunt-woman into my next incarnation, knowing it’s all for the good, and that I would’ve chosen it, if only I’d known it was possible.