I’m walking into a dark place. Darkness I can feel. The lack of light means no bearings. All of the familiar markers are fading. Steps become smaller. Hands out to find something to hold onto. Everything is hidden. Random sounds in the distance. Leaving safety behind I move slower. Groping, crawling to move an inch, I’m not even a toddler. Everything has the power to hurt me.
This is by choice. Maps can’t guide me through unexplored places. Family can’t hold my hand as I search within. Best intended advice becomes shackles. Old habits become weights. I have to leave more and more behind to find someplace new. There has to be something in the dark.
It sounds like a cave, but I believe it’s a tunnel.
Nobody thinks a heathen can have faith. But without it there’s no point in trying anything different. There is no growth without the hope that improvement is possible. Not just possible but probable. And no growth without pain and sacrifice.
There are times when it looks too dark. Working a job I have nothing but hate for. An economy that doesn’t encourage independence or change. Experienced, rational people who actually care telling me what a fantastic career I have, with supposed security, benefits, and retirement. My own antisocial leanings. I feel almost predestined to live just short of happiness.
But I have to believe that there’s something more. Without the hope of Better, there’s no point in moving forward. That’s walking a treadmill.