There’s been a lot of talk about getting back to ‘normal’ lately.
But a pause from the usual has shown me even more clearly that what we call normal isn’t necessarily healthy. For us as individuals, or for the larger whole that we are part of.
In our culture, normal is…
Making daily choices that trash the environment, but make our lives a little more convenient.
Exhausting ourselves to prove we are successful, even if we’re miserable.
Joining in, when we’d rather opt out, because of expectations to be socially adequate.
Spending so much time in houses and cars that we think of ourselves as separate from ‘nature’.
Inhabiting workplaces that are toxic to wellbeing (ones which would have us believe that we are defective if we can’t tolerate the dysfunctional environment).
Being relentlessly busy or productive, as if this somehow validates us.
Knowing the ‘right’ answers, and dismissing the wise humility of questioning.
Buying the stuff that makes us a good consumer, but keeps us un-satisfied.
Chasing proof that we are special: our big day, the next promotion, the most likes, the perfect selfie.
Ticking the boxes, as if happiness was a recipe we should blindly follow, without creativity or imagination.
If that’s normal, it’s not what I want.
I’m not being judgemental; it’s very seductive. I’ve been there, and tried living that life. But it almost broke me.
What I do want is to be free.
Free to question, to create, to be content, to be slow, to be aware, to be part of life.
Free to feel secure, in a life that’s ordinary, and full of quiet wonder.
A life that doesn’t need approval, or more stuff, or gold stars.
A life that’s alive enough to offer endless moments of delight, if I’m paying attention.
A life in which ‘normal’ is irrelevant.
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