My world fit me perfectly. It fit me snugly and loosely in all of the right places. The sleeves were never too short, and the shoes were never too small.
But recently, I’ve been waking up in a bed that’s a little too tiny. I’ve been drinking out of coffee mugs that are too shallow. I’ve been driving down streets that are too familiar. My sweet comforts of home are becoming a little threadbare.
I feel like Alice after drinking her growth potion. My world has taught me such beautiful things I will always carry with me around my neck, in my heart, and in my head, and even in my shoes.
And because of what my little-big world has taught me, I know that it’s time for a new adventure. I know that it’s time to stretch these wings I’ve been patiently, contentedly stitching to see how they may soar.
I don’t want to leave. I love my home. I love the memories and stories woven beautifully here. And I know that moving forward will be really hard. I know that charting new territory is confusing, and worst of all, scary.
Fear is the enemy of all great things. It tries to inhibit. It tries to bind. It tries to constrict.
And new territory is where fear strikes loudest, hardest, deepest.
Because you don’t yet know where to go for cover. You don’t know whose voices can scare it away, or what places will offer you sanctuary.
And I think fear knows a thing or two. It only strikes when it senses that we are about to do something truly great. Or else, why would it bother slithering out of its cave?
In brand new territory, it’s important to have a showdown with fear. To have a sensible conversation with handguns and twirling mustaches in front of the saloon, and to let it know that this new town isn’t big enough for the both of you.
And then, you’ve got to come out swinging. You’ve got to defend yourself with all of the truth your old home and small shoes and short sweater have carved in you.
And you’ve got to claim that town. You’ve got to claim it for all of the beautiful buildings and relationships you’re going to build from the ground up.
Or else, you’re going to build it out of fear. And the foundations will shake, and before long, your new town will crumble.
Because fear only gives the semblance of building. It’s real job is to deconstruct.
So when you’re packing your too-small suitcase, make sure to pack every truth, every grain of courage that your people have poured into you.
Because you can’t bring your too-small things with you to this new place. They don’t fit. But never forget how they used to fit you like a glove; used to comfort and delight and amuse and challenge you.
Take with you the truth. The stitches of your new wings to stretch across the sky and scare away the fear with a taste of its own medicine.