This morning, the cicadas are loud. They are singing outside as I record this week’s episode of A Life That Lets Me Breathe - that unmistakable sound of late summer here in the Midwest. I could go inside and find somewhere quieter. But I don’t want to. There is something I love about letting these conversations hold the sounds of the season we’re actually living in. The birds. The wind. The cicadas. The imperfect, ordinary life happening around us while we sit together and talk about what it means to be human. I’ve been noticing how much is changing. Not only in my own life. Almost every conversation I have seems to circle back to the same thing: Something is ending.Something is beginning.And we aren’t entirely sure what comes next. For some, it’s a relationship. For others, a job. A role. An identity. A way of living that once felt tolerable, but suddenly doesn’t anymore. Some people are choosing the change. I’m done with this.I can’t carry this anymore.This isn’t mine. Others feel as though life is making the choice for them. And then there are those who can’t even name what is changing yet. They simply feel it. A restlessness. An anticipation. A strange knowing that something is coming. Maybe you feel it, too. Sometimes we change before our lives do. I think one of the most disorienting parts of transformation is that the change often begins inside of us long before there is evidence of it outside of us. Something shifts. We begin wanting different things. What once felt normal starts feeling uncomfortable. What we once tolerated becomes intolerable. What once seemed impossible begins whispering, maybe. And yet, when we look around, our lives may still look mostly the same. That space can be incredibly unsettling. Our minds want to understand. Where is this going? What am I supposed to do? How will this work? Am I making a terrible mistake? We want the map before we take the first step. But perhaps some seasons aren’t asking us for a map. Perhaps they are asking us for self-trust. To listen. To notice what lights us up and what drains the life from us. To recognize what we can no longer pretend not to know. And then to trust that the next step will reveal itself when we need it. What becomes unbearable when we love ourselves more? I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately: Sometimes the thing that changed isn’t the job. Or the relationship. Or the circumstance. We changed. Something we could tolerate for years suddenly becomes unbearable because we have grown in our capacity to love ourselves. And perhaps that discomfort isn’t evidence that something has gone wrong. Perhaps it is contrast. It shows us where we have abandoned ourselves. Where we have made ourselves smaller. Where we have stayed because staying was familiar. Where an old role, expectation or identity no longer belongs to the person we are becoming. The things that once taught us how to love ourselves may eventually have to fall away because we learned. And that doesn’t always mean leaving everything behind. Sometimes a relationship changes with us. Sometimes a job becomes something different. Sometimes an old dream transforms into a new one. And sometimes, yes, we realize something has reached its ending. We don’t always know which it will be while we’re standing in the middle of it. That is where trust comes in. Learning to live without the straight line. I don’t have answers for this season. I’m living it, too. I’m letting what makes me feel alive guide me. I’m practicing staying in the moment instead of demanding that I know what happens five steps from now. I’m learning that uncertainty doesn’t always mean I’m lost. Sometimes uncertainty simply means I have left the old path, and the new one hasn’t appeared yet. And maybe we’re allowed to stand there for a while. At the edge of the forest. Listening. This morning, as I was thinking about all of this, I opened a voice note and began speaking. I wasn’t trying to write anything. But when I finished, I realized a poem had arrived. So I’ll leave it here for you, too. The Wild Within Sometimes what you need mostis not more movement. Not force.Not the right answers.Not making sense of it all. Sometimesyou don’t want to walkthe straight line - linear,certain,understandable,predictable,sure. Sometimes what you long for mostis a new rhythm. To step outside of time.To flow. A time to honor the uncertainty.To throw caution to the wind.To be brave. To take a new path.To get off the path altogether. To see what waitsbeyond the edge of the forest. To shine brighter.Expand wider.Allow your heart to becomefuller,freer,more alive. There is a callto return to the wild within you. The wild that knows the next step.The wild that has faithand trusts - the process,the moment,your own creative energy. The fire.The power.The wildnessthat knows where it wantsto take you next. Now is not the timeto fear the dark. Not the timeto run from the shadowor hide from change. But to walk toward it. To stand taller within it. And to remember - your ancestors,your angels and guides,Mother Earth herself,and all of the stars are holding you,guiding you,cheering you on - one beautiful,messy,imperfect,uncertain,wild step at a time. Maybe you don’t need to know where the path leads today. Maybe you only need enough courage for the step that is here now. And then another. And another. Until one day you look around and realize that the life outside of you has finally begun to resemble the life that was quietly taking shape within you all along. Keep taking good care of you, my friend. I’ll be over here doing the same. With love,Shannon Come gather. 🌿 The Evergreen Table is a place for bread, blooms, letters, stories, poetry and the small things that bring us back to wonder. If you’re near Kansas City, you can join me for sourdough focaccia, seasonal bread and blooms. And wherever you live, you can join Letters from the Evergreen Table - a monthly gathering through the mail filled with handwritten letters, stories, poems, creative inspiration and little bits of everyday magic. I would love to meet you there! Get full access to Shannon Kinney-Duh | The Evergreen Table at shannonkinneyduh.substack.com/subscribe
