Laundry Can Wait
There’s a powerful scene in the movie, Fight Club, where Brad Pitt walks into a convenience store and holds the cashier at gunpoint; not for money, but for an answer to what he’s always dreamed of being.
On his knees, terrified, the cashier admits with shame that he lives in a cramped basement apartment, works at a dead-end job, and is resigned to the notion that nothing will change. Gun to his head, Pitt screams at him several times to answer, “What was your dream?” Convinced he’s about to die, the cashier breaks down and sobs, “a veterinarian”. Pitt threatens, “I’m keeping your license. I’m going to check on you. I know where you live. If you aren’t back in school and on your way to becoming a veterinarian in six weeks, you will be dead.” The cashier scrambles to his feet and runs full speed into the night. Into the darkness that promises nothing.
This scene always makes me want to hold my hand over my heart.
I want to sprint after the cashier and out of breath, grab his hand and tell him it’s ok to feel afraid and to cry and to want to run. I’d tell him he’s not alone. I’d look deep in his eyes and beg him to listen for the call of his soul because once the desire has been declared, if he doesn’t move in the direction of it, every single day he’ll feel as if he’s slowly dying. Brad is right. In six weeks the cashier will be figuratively dead.
Until we force ourselves to pull the trigger. Create urgency. Decide we only have today. We’ll never venture into the unknown darkness.
For a brilliant, luminous, soul-sister of mine, slowly dying is felt in a spare bedroom where mountains of laundry wait to be folded every single day. There is no “done” to laundry with four athletic boys. Every day she wonders when she will carve out time for her dreams, to show up for why she believes she was born. When she will decide to put herself at the top of the laundry pile. But wondering is never enough. And, she knows this. And, I know this. And, you know this.
Until we force ourselves to pull the trigger. Create urgency. Decide we only have today. We’ll never venture into the unknown darkness. We’ll continue to fold laundry. Laundry is warm and soft and it smells so good. Laundry is safe. The unknown is not. And fear feels real in the unknown.
What has taken me far too long to realize is that I feel most joyful and alive when I’m pushing through fear reminding myself that being open to possibility, allows for all manner of magic to occur in any moment. It’s in not having all the answers, and anchoring myself in “why” I’m doing what I’m doing, instead of “how”, that allows me to run full speed into the night. Into the darkness that promises nothing.
Laundry Can Wait
There’s a powerful scene in the movie, Fight Club, where Brad Pitt walks into a convenience store and holds the cashier at gunpoint; not for money, but for an answer to what he’s always dreamed of being.
On his knees, terrified, the cashier admits with shame that he lives in a cramped basement apartment, works at a dead-end job, and is resigned to the notion that nothing will change. Gun to his head, Pitt screams at him several times to answer, “What was your dream?” Convinced he’s about to die, the cashier breaks down and sobs, “a veterinarian”. Pitt threatens, “I’m keeping your license. I’m going to check on you. I know where you live. If you aren’t back in school and on your way to becoming a veterinarian in six weeks, you will be dead.” The cashier scrambles to his feet and runs full speed into the night. Into the darkness that promises nothing.
This scene always makes me want to hold my hand over my heart.
I want to sprint after the cashier and out of breath, grab his hand and tell him it’s ok to feel afraid and to cry and to want to run. I’d tell him he’s not alone. I’d look deep in his eyes and beg him to listen for the call of his soul because once the desire has been declared, if he doesn’t move in the direction of it, every single day he’ll feel as if he’s slowly dying. Brad is right. In six weeks the cashier will be figuratively dead.
Until we create our own gun. Create urgency. Decide we only have today. We’ll never venture into the unknown darkness.
For a brilliant, luminous, soul-sister of mine, slowly dying is felt in a spare bedroom where mountains of laundry wait to be folded every single day. There is no “done” to laundry with four athletic boys. Every day she wonders when she will carve out time for her dreams, to show up for why she believes she was born. When she will decide to put herself at the top of the laundry pile. But wondering is never enough. And, she knows this. And, I know this. And, you know this.
Until we force ourselves to pull the trigger. Create urgency. Decide we only have today. We’ll never venture into the unknown darkness. We’ll continue to fold laundry. Laundry is warm and soft and it smells so good. Laundry is safe. The unknown is not. And fear feels real in the unknown.
What has taken me far too long to realize is that I feel most joyful and alive when I’m pushing through fear reminding myself that being open to possibility, allows for all manner of magic to occur in any moment. It’s in not having all the answers, and anchoring myself in “why” I’m doing what I’m doing, instead of “how”, that allows me to run full speed into the night. Into the darkness that promises nothing.