raft
We build systems and methods. Create practices and processes. We tell ourselves stories about who and what we are. Who and what we’ve been. Who and what we hope to be. We gather reeds and branches and we make a raft to get us to the other shore of it.
That’s the thing about stories. They’re practical. Functional. They do something. They are a vehicle.
What happens when the raft gets you to the point of arrival? When it completes the task it was created for? We invested so much in the making. It served us so well so far. But now our feet are on the shore. Most of us keep holding it. We convince ourselves that carrying it is the best thing to do. That the effort is worthy of the weight.
But drag a raft up a mountain long enough and you’ll soon discover that what was once useful can become a burden.
When a story stops serving you the best way to honor it is to lay it down and let it go. A good story will get you where you’re going, but it will also give you room enough to rewrite it entirely.
May you gather the courage to create your story.
May your feet always know the shore when they find it.
May you lay down what you carried when it’s time to change.
In case no one’s told you today, I love you with all my everything.
It's narratives all the way down...
reminds me of Herzog's Fitzcarraldo