It seems I can never make up my mind about important things. I tend to go back and forth and back and forth on a never-ending merry-go-round of indecision. In my last post, I talked about my need to move. The fact is, I never wanted to move.
I love my little cottage, I love my yard, even the overgrown parts of it. I have so many ideas and plans that I want to do here. I felt good for a while about my decision to move, but there has been a little voice in the back of my head that said I should not move. A voice that said that I would continue to be unhappy in a townhouse, surrounded by people.
I spent today at the hospital. My stepmum was diagnosed with breast cancer and today was her surgery. During the day, listening to my dad, aunts and uncle talk, I realized that I'm a runner. Whenever things get the least bit rough, I run. I move or I quit jobs, or I retreat into my hermit side and avoid people, even friends and family. I have been scared all my life. What am I scared of? I really don't know.
What I do know, is that I'm tired of running. I'm sick of not standing up for myself. Most of all, I'm done with being scared.
I am not running anymore.
I'm going to stay in my little cottage. I'm going to do what I can to limit the contact with the annoying neighbor (both physically and magically) and I'm going to make this place what I want it to be. I'm going to enjoy living here and having my own little plot of land to plant and tend. I need that, for my soul to grow and flourish, I need just that.
Am I being silly, wishy-washy, or am I being brave? I think, I am finally being brave.