“In an unmoored life like mine, sleep and hunger and work arrange themselves to suit themselves, without consulting me.” ― Kurt Vonnegut

. . .

See the Beauty: Unmoored

. . .

I know someone who forgot how much she loved to paint because she stopped doing it years ago after her husband belittled her interest.

I know someone else who doesn’t even try to protest when his wife tells him he’s not allowed to wear a rubber wedding band in place of the gold one she got him — because it wouldn’t look as good.

I know someone who’s spent the last decade caring for her friends, so much so that she’s forgotten what it’s like to care for herself. And I know someone else who, when asked how he’s feeling about something heavy in his life, can’t seem to make sense of the question and looks to his partner for help with the answer.

In the process of giving of themselves, they’ve all handed over parts of their beings to someone or something else. And now, they’re left living a life with little confidence about how to feel or what to do.

They’ve become unmoored . . . loose . . . adrift.

. . .

In some ways, we’ve all become unmoored over the past few years.

The things we thought we could hang onto have become unstable. The things we once knew now seem less certain. The things we could always depend on have started to fail us. And so we’re left wondering who we are, who we were, and who we may yet be.

But it doesn’t have to remain this way.

We don’t have to continue floating aimlessly through this one life we’re given — unsure of where to go and what to do. We don’t have to forget the sound of our own voice, lose sight of our dreams, or be disconnected from our inner feelings.

We can be intertwined and independent at the same time.

We can exist in the tension of selfish and selfless living. We can know and speak our minds, while remaining deferential. We can become well acquainted with the ring of our unique inner voice. We can seek out joy and beauty in things that others choose to discard. We can claim and chase our dreams, even if that means we do it on our own.

And we can love others as they do the same — twisting and turning their kaleidoscopes in search of new or neglected contours and colors.

. . .

So, who are you? Who am I? How do we truly feel inside ourselves right now?

What do we know? What have we abandoned? What do we love and what do we desire? What are we clinging to? What are we releasing? What are we numbing and what are we pricking?

And what fears are hindering us from finding all this out?

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