My Five Minute Friday on: Exhale
I stood, shoulder to shoulder in the crowd. Surrounded.
The throng of people stifling my movement and invading my space.
I was there to listen to a band I liked, but I found myself preoccupied. Like I had to fight for the little space I had.
A tension I cannot explain swept over me and I felt like I was just another head in the crowd. Unseen.
When it was over I weaved my way to the back — to what felt like freedom. And I could finally breathe again.
Relief swept away the tension. And I could see and hear things I couldn't before.
I've needed to step back for awhile now. And it's only in this still and quiet place that I can see how, although alluring, the busy crowd was a deathtrap.
The pressures I've succumbed to, to chase illusive — to be more, have more, do more.
For awhile, maybe, I thought I could do it all. But I lived in the tension and pull from all I had said yes to.
And then change happened. I fought my way to the back of the crowd and sitting on it's fringes I'm recovering from its deafening noise. I see how it restricted and squeezed life out like a boa coiling itself around your chest.
I'm not sure what tomorrow looks like, but I know I cannot return to the pit of busy. The pit of scraping and climbing to be seen.
For now, I'm letting relief sweep over the tension in one healing, cleansing exhale.
I'm in a quiet season, on this blog and everywhere it seems. I'm learning things, life changing things, about myself here. And it's beautiful and it's hard and I believe worth it — whatever God is working out in me. Thank you for grace and for still checking in with me. I am still here, on the fringes.
Linking today with…
"squeezed life out like a boa coiling itself around your chest."
What a strong, effective image you created with these words.
Sometimes, having more space really DOES mean more life! Blessings on your journey.
Stopping by from FMF. The older I get, the less tolerance I have for busy and crowded and more, more, more. I know how you feel. Thank you for sharing.
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