Nope nope nope, not going, leave me here. Out there is scary, unknown, this is fine. I’m fine. Nope, being impaled on my own self-doubt is fine. I’m cool with the middling life that affords me just enough to feel nipped at by lack and struggle. It’s fiiine, God. Jesus, lay off. I built this whole small life myself, man! I have small passions I follow briefly then abandon, that’s good because I don’t get too good at anything and won’t make anyone feel uncomfortable, and I won’t be judged, and I can continue to call myself a Master of None (you know, if Aziz Ansari is okay with it).
Wait? What’s that noise? No, you heard it… it’s faint, listen hard, you have divine hearing for chrissake. There! It’s someone else! I think they need me! Yep, uh huh, they totally need me. Omigod, Phew. See, I’m just going attend to them first, it’s cool — HA! See, I’m totally doing something. Can’t fault me now! Well, they may not have actually said that they need me, but I’m sure that they do. I’m just going to psychicly mine them for any point of lack or fault so I can go charge in with my spackle. Nah, it’s cool, wearing cargo pants is totally how I want to go out into the world, a utilitarian life that plods inexorably toward death. It’s fine!
Yes, I heard you. Yes, I see these open doors, these other options, but whatever, this is easier. Yes, I said easier. No, it’s not hard to shrink back and pretend to be something otherwise. I’ve been doing it for most of my life, so why wouldn’t it be okay? No, I already told you this is comfortable, my legs and arms twisted into a grotesquery of hiding and smallness — I’m good here.
What do you want from me?? Let go!
You and your choir of angels and highfalutin’ abundance talk and shiny opportunities can go fart in your soup. This is the level at which I’ve been raised, it’s the level at which I’ve built a life, why would I give it up? I’ve staked so much on this smallness of being. My whole identity is wrapped up in believing and projecting that I am less, have less, do less, feel less than I actually am. What are you asking of me?? I feel really exposed, here, you know. Pulling my covers like this is not very courteous.
Yes, I seeeee what you’re showing me. I see that you’re offering a different way, but what about this one? It’s like Tom Hanks leaving his island in Castaway — do you know what kind of mourning there is when you’re leaving the inappropriate but familiar place you’ve build with your BARE HANDS!? And now you want me to just leave it? Crazytalk.
Alright God, Okay. Okay!, Whatever. I’m looking. I don’t know exactly what you want me to do yet — and I’m making NO promises — but I’m looking. I’m not completely listening yet, but I’m looking. Go fart yourself.