When I look at the past 39 years of my life I feel like I’ve lived half a dozen lifetimes already. I used to envy people who got to be born, grow up and live in the same place — and I mean country or continent at least — because I saw the unsteadiness of my early years as an obstacle to finding that elusive sense of purpose and belonging. I wanted so badly to find a perfectly fitting mold because once I did, I would never leave its comfort and safety, I thought.
Good thing life always knows better than I do what I need. It turns out, having to break my own mold over and over, although I resisted like the best of them, had eventually brought me the stability and peace I desperately craved. And it all started happening when I ran out of strength to try to outsmart life.
Beautiful things happen when we stop waging war with what is, and that includes unexpected change. What would happen if the baby chick fought tooth and nail against the egg shell cracking open? Or if a caterpillar just refused to turn into gooey larva soup within its chrysalis? We wouldn’t want them to get their way, even if they could, because it would mean the end for the budding chicken and the butterfly, which is what they’re trying to become.
By holding unto your mold, and fighting against ultimately unavoidable changes, what great things are you forfeiting from yourself? Change is not always comfortable, just ask the caterpillar. But not changing means stagnation, which is the antithesis of growth, while life IS growth.
The hardest molds to break are our beliefs, and they are ultimately the only molds we need to crack open if we want to taste true freedom. In this season of spring, with hatching, blooming and sprouting happening everywhere you look, ask yourself whether you’d be better off if you broke out of some of your molds.
I know that if I stubbornly hold on to my fixed view of something or someone, including myself, and refuse to break my own mold I may just become moldy. Yuck.