Is stability just a fiction? perhaps an ideal?
I’ve lived four full decades and have had my share of life-shattering/changing/shit-hit-the-fan moments. They range from unexpected and early deaths, job changes, marriage, divorce, adoption, motherhood, family illnesses, moves abroad to study, more marriage, more death, seeing your country be destroyed little by little and the final, or may be I should say latest one, leaving your country for good and starting a new life somewhere else in a different language, different country, different culture… you get the hang of it right?
Don’t get me wrong, except for death and the destruction of my homeland, all the other things were my decision, or consequence of my decisions, and a lot of them have opened unthinkable doors and opportunities for my human and emotional growth. They have allowed me to know and reinvent myself. They have led me to open up and create new but deep connections with new and loving people. They have given me freedom to go out, to explore, to learn new things. All these experiences have shaped me into who I am today, with my in–working-order areas and also with my glitches.
And yet there are days when the realization of the constant and seemingly never-ending changes hits home and I feel E X H A U S T E D. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does I cannot stop wondering if it is me who’s had a very intense four decades, or if seeing what’s happening in Venezuela is breaking my heart, or if may be I am just too sensitive and feel too much, or if it is just me being self-centered and not realizing that everyone has had moments, perhaps years of constant and emotionally-demanding change.
It may be that stability is just the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow that we continue to seek and don’t seem to find.