The second I feel pushed, I freak.
My prayers become something like, "Um. Lord, I know I'm not supposed to question you, but I was FINE being comfortable! I was FINE being in a place where I knew everything. Where I didn't feel inadequate. Can we just skip this part and go back to that comfortable place?!"
I hate the feeling of not knowing where my foot is going to land next. I'm a "I've-already-planned-twenty-years-ahead-so-you-don't-need-to-mess-with-me" kind of gal.
Come out of the box?! Um, no, thank you. I like my box. I even have my walls decorated. LEAVE ME ALONE!
But no. The pushing and trials comes. And I, scraping at the walls of my comfy (and totally chic) box in an all-out effort to stay in, am forced to come out and play in a world that I don't know.
Nothing seems familiar. No one looks or acts the same as they did when I looked out of my box's peephole. They're not at all who I thought they were.
Here in this world, I see their motives outweigh their conscience. I see their selfishness outweigh their kindness. I see their fears outweigh their trust. I see their hurt outweigh their joy.
And here in this world outside my comfy (and yes, totally chic) box, with these people who aren't at all who I thought they were, I am staring into a full-length mirror.
I never knew I could feel what I've felt in the last few days. I never knew I could see someone I didn't even know so completely and thoroughly.
The mirror has replaced the box, and I'm not entirely sure I ever wanted to know myself this well.
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