As much as the process of shedding the old and stepping into the new feels one must discard the old entirely, I’m beginning to see the subtle difference between acknowledging what’s old and no longer serves me well, giving it a good place in this process; and turning my back on it completely. All those parts I’ve grown out of, were still me after all.
Maybe growth and evolution doesn’t have to involve rejection of the old, but simply a healthy honouring of the way things used to be, and a happy acceptance of the way they are now.
I’ve often wondered, and I’ve written about it too somewhere on this blog before (cannot for the life of me find the post now), about where our old selves go to die, when we scrub off the layers and move closer to the truth of what lies within.
Of late, I’ve realised they don’t go anywhere to die at all. They find a place within us, settling into the background and letting newer, younger selves emerge. Younger, relevant and current selves that are roaring and alive, raring to go. Current selves who have been lying in waiting for their time to come.
I’m finding (albeit with a little difficulty) that it is possible to look back on these past selves with a little bit of compassion instead of loathing, or embarrassment, or disgust, or criticism, or all of the above. These past selves, complete with all the not-so-great decisions I might have made, that led me to not-so-great events, not-so-great people choices and the not-so-great ways in which I dealt with it, were the journey that has brought me here, after all.
Inclusion has taken on a whole new meaning, suddenly.
Two years ago: Day 253: Disjointed, incomplete thoughts