“What’s wrong?” I asked groggily, wrapping an arm around her instinctively.
“Evie is calling for us.”
I leapt out of bed, bumping into the clothes stand before I opened the door.
“Evie.” My voice sounded in the hallway.
I pushed open the door to my daughter’s room. She was sitting up in her bed, eyes wide open but not awake. Her pink, flower-shaped night light softly illuminated her small form, clutching the blanket to her chest.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I swooped in gently, my arms wrapping her not too tightly. “Did you have a bad dream?”
She didn’t say anything. After a moment, she realized her nightmare wasn’t real. She relaxed and lowered herself back onto her bed. I pulled the blanket back over her shoulder, combed the hair off her face and planted a kiss on her temple.
Epiphanies come to me. Sometimes, they tiptoe gently through the door, leaning against the wall, waiting until you notice them. Other times, they announce themselves in a voice of burning inspiration, cutting through the noise.
The one that came to me last night was a bit different. It came through the door quietly, but instead of waiting, it walked right up to me and spoke into my ear.
This is everything.
For most of my adult life, I’ve been gripped with desperation. Always trying to do more, be more. You’re running out of time. It’s a dream-borne parasite, digging its talons into weak egos then drinking from their deep wells of insecurity. It’s steered me in the wrong direction, personally and professionally. It’s made me less me. Its roots snake deeply into my soul. I’m only just starting to weed it out.
My gut – the core of “me” – knows where I’m trying to go. In these quiet, unfiltered moments, it speaks. When it does, I make sure to listen. It listens to me all day, every day. Hears what I say and think. It takes it all in, considers what I’m doing then, just when I most need it, provides those few words that help me correct my course.
To go where I want to go, I just have to listen to it. Easier said than done. I know that it’s always there though, waiting for its opportunities to speak to me. This year, I will listen to it more and take action on its advice. The more I do this, the more it’ll speak to me.
The more it speaks to me, the more “me” I will become.