As well it should.
Big things are, well, big. Huge. When something changes, everything changes. And usually, because real life is messy, none of this happens in one fell swoop.
Sometimes the transformation begins and continues gradually. Other times, though, it starts with a bang. A big bang. A stop-in-your-tracks thought. An incident. A moment. A Switch.
A giant freakin’ crack.
As if someone took a jackhammer to a walnut.
When everything cracks wide open, some of the bigger pieces are gone immediately. You make a decision to quit your job, and the big piece of actually quitting, is done. The first part, the big part, can be like a BandAid. Off and done. Cracked and outta here. Decided and let’s move on.
But you aren’t done. The smaller pieces – what will you do now, what about the rent/mortgage, who are you without this job identity, why you took a job that wasn’t right for you in the first place – are still there. Sometimes they are harder to see. Some are little more than dust. But they are sharp. And they will let you know when they are there. Maybe not immediately, but they don’t disappear. They want to stay with the old version of the walnut!
Here you are, this cool and juicy new uncracked nut, and yet you can’t totally do your thing because these smaller pieces keep getting in your way.
These smaller pieces are what put you in your place.
These smaller pieces are what have you, at least once, wonder how you can un-uncrack yourself and go right back into that hard little shell.
These smaller pieces can be a big deal.
These smaller pieces are what make up the weird.
Weird is all about carrying those smaller, sometimes hidden, usually unwanted, pieces from the pre-uncracked stage as you go into your new, uncracked stage.
They are sharp little reminders of what and how much has changed. Of how safe it may have felt to stay put. Of how much work you still have to do.
And, really, after a giant uncracking, who among us wants to do yet more work?!
Yet, you have no choice. Because you can’t go back. You can’t feel bliss from ignorance again. You can’t un-know or un-live something. You are different now. You are not that person anymore and the person you are now feels deeper, wants deeper, loves deeper. That person has faced the truth — the hard one that took huge
balls courage to face — and continues to do so every day.
Despite the prickly reminders of what was once seemingly (though not really) whole and neat.
You feel weird because you now have the widsom that can come only from cracking wide open in the most raw and real way.
The wisdom that comes from knowing that despite all the weirdness and messiness, you will own and love (and, whenever needed, properly dispose of) those smaller shards.
The wisdom that comes from knowing that you will not only become whole again, but that you are still and already totally and utterly whole.