Lately I have felt a bit like a lump of clay waiting for the potter to decide on where to squeeze me, prod me and shape me. It is hard to wait ’cause I think I should have some kind of shape. I have had a certain kind of shape for a long time and somehow it has begun to fit me poorly. I am sort of waiting for a make-over I guess. Maybe the make-over has begun – just no final shape yet and I am growing impatient with not knowing exactly for what purpose I will take shape. Which is kind of stupid since I am not the potter. I guess the time spent now being shaped, which I am sure is going on even if I don’t feel much, will result in what the potter wants.
I hope. It is hard to live in a liminal space.
I don’t want to live passively, as if nothing matters to me. I want to live expectantly even if I don’t know what is coming next. Learning to trust the potter with the design.
That is very figurative, I know. Waiting is hard. Waiting for things to move me towards retirement, towards new roles after that. Not knowing, waiting for pieces to fall into place, attempting to give some pieces a push. This in between place is a hard place to live.