(I was flipping through a dictionary a few days ago, and that was the sentence used for the definition of “emerge”.)

Three conversations I’ve had recently:

One. During which I said that I had a lot of emotional baggage.

Two. A friend said she needed to figure out what she wants to be when she grows up. I told her that I’ve given up trying to figure it out. Every time I think I know, things change. And where I end up is nothing like my well-made plans.

Three. Reflecting on how my life has changed since 2001. And I said I think I’m happier now than I’ve ever been.

It seems like the dots wouldn’t connect.

None of us have a past beyond reproach. Knowing that takes the pressure off.

Today I cried for no reason. Not no reason at all, I suppose. But not reason enough to cry. I wasn’t even crying over some thing, I was just tired, stressed, overwhelmed, underwater.

As I read my blog subscriptions through RSS, I hesitate with my mouse and skip over writing journals like Neil Gaiman’s. I don’t want to be reminded that I’m not writing.

Mostly, I think, I need to remember that life is life and even when it’s better it’s work. And after making good decisions it’s still hard. And that doesn’t mean you haven’t chosen well. Or that you’re on the wrong path.

Patience. Again. I can’t do everything all at once. And yet I continue to try.

Change.

It’s such a small, innocuous word. Little. Not momentous. It doesn’t roar or charge or give you any indication at all. That it’s hard. It’s scary. And it’s not just that what you have to do is difficult, it’s that you don’t always even know what the thing is that you should be doing.

With some things, changes comes easier. Other things are harder to risk.

Risk tolerance isn’t an absolute.

Without change, without risk, you can’t move forward, can’t explore the possibilities. You have to expose that which you want to protect or else you just stay in the same place. Marking time. Marching in place — growing wearing but not getting anywhere.

And if things weren’t hard enough already, the fear, the baggage, the weight all just serve to help you sabotage yourself. And so you fight it. And you breathe. And you try.

You risk. You change.