Series 25: The Weight and Wonder of Starting Again

Where You Stand After the Fall

It's the moment right after the explosion that we all know, isn't it, when the silence that follows weighs heavier than all the previous noises. Even though the world still looks the way it did, it doesn't fit anymore. The old plans lose their power, your habits seem strange, and the things that once gave you a sense of identity are slowly fading in a way that you never thought possible. You stare at the remains and understand that it wasn't exactly you who chose to start from scratch, but rather life that made that choice when it fell out from under your feet.

Life can be humbling. One moment, life seems stable and predictable, the next moment it falls in a manner that is both sudden and final. For example, a situation where the disappearance of a job that used to be a source of your identity, a relationship that no longer suits, or a loss that changes your perception of stability is the cause of the collapse. What is left after this is the void that follows the fall, that hollowness, where, among the ruins of what supported you, you try to find a starting point and are unsure if you want to do so.

The place between the end and the not-yet is quite dreadful. It is full of uncertainties and unpredictability, and it doesn't follow a straight line. On some mornings, you feel ready for the challenge of rebuilding something genuine and taking one firm step forward. On other days, just a little movement seems impossible. You mingle with confusion, grief, and the weariness that results from the continuous effort of trying to understand a world that is no longer familiar. But a little bit from the inside, the thing that is still there, keeps coming towards life. That little thing which refuses to vanish is still there, wanting to develop, to produce, and to trust that something valuable can be the result of the fragmentation.

Quite often, long-term personal development is first planted right there, in the quietness that follows the downfall. It actually begins with admission: "I don't have it all figured out, but I'm still here." Courage is found at this point. The ground continues to be unsteady for some time, and it might be a while before you can trust your footing again, but that very moment when you are standing there, unprotected and insecure, is the instance of starting over.

What is still present is gradually becoming more visible to you, for instance, those who always stayed by your side, the tiny moments that remind you of your value, and the strength that has supported you in difficult times. Those little pieces become your base. You do not have to understand how the plot will turn out; it suffices to be aware of what is still there. After that, you commit to the relentless effort of being present once more. You start to interpret success in a new way.

New beginnings are not very motivating. They are built of small, barely noticeable wins like the morning when you get up without the heavy burden pressing on you too much, the day when you take one honest decision that is right, even though it doesn't solve everything, or the moment when you realize that not everything has been lost. That part of you that is there despite the circumstances and might be small is the seed of the future.

Healing changes you totally, from within. It is the permission given to oneself to grow into somebody more conscious, somebody deeper rather than flawless. The lessons that loss brings are, for the most part, not gentle; however, they lay the genuine groundwork.

The current place where you stand is more important than how far you have fallen because it is from this doubtful and imperfect ground that you start again, with sincerity and power.

There will be a time, one of these days, when you will look behind and see how much bravery was required of you to remain among the ruins and still select life. You will come to the understanding that your unanswering, doubting, exhausted, yet persevering self was the source that eventually gave rise to all that was stable. You were not the fall; instead, you were the refinement. It removed the things that were never meant to stay, leaving only what is authentic.

So, in case you are there now, standing, not knowing where to begin, be aware that doing it over again does not always feel like a brave act, but every inhale, every tiny effort, every refusal to yield is an indication that a part of you is still hopeful for something more. That faith or faint voice that says try again is what makes endings turn into beginnings, and loss into the earth from which new life grows. 

 

 

 

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