Finally, he stopped. “Whew,” I thought. “He must have figured that I was at the limit of what I could do.” But before I could move, I heard him say this: “If you want me to help you, you gotta let me have your shoulder.” In other words, I wasn’t cooperating in my own healing. I was resisting, and didn’t even know it.
I like the idea that, at least experientially, we can stretch time out a bit, slow it down, fit more of life into it’s cracks and crevasses. Life will resist, of course. And we can’t all live in the timeless every hour of the day. But we can find those cracks. And we can slip into them from time to time.
When I began accepting my quiet self, I began to experience freedom. If being quiet was true about me, I didn’t have to force myself to be louder than what felt natural. I didn’t have to try to be more fun at parties when I didn’t know how to be. I could start to discover who I truly was, quiet parts and all.
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