Embarking on a quest brings tail wagging excitement upon anticipation. Images scroll through your mind, and you of course create a rendition of the final product – the photo snapped when you finally reach the mountain’s peak. But in the middle of the process, as you are climbing, thirsty, and with aching muscles, your mind forgets the initial euphoria and you wonder if all of it was a dream, or worse, a crazy, futile aspiration.

The endurance of cleaning out closets and re-purposing rooms provides a kind of strength, a cleansing, and possibly a rebirth. My identity begins to reveal itself in every room, in the pale pink walls, the over-stuffed bookshelves, and the all-white chandelier.

My upward dog gets stronger the more I flow, and I let go of what it should look like, and simply do what feels best for me.

The greatest lesson I’ve learned in life is that my path is not my plan. I can’t hold onto anything. Nothing is mine – not even my own boys. I get to guide them, teach them, and observe them in awe, but the path God has set for them is not up to me. I am a witness to their journey, and hopefully I can honor that position.

When change is necessary, we will feel rocked, shaken, uncomfortable and unready – actually, probably very unready. We want to hide – and there are oh-so-many great hiding places – anger, isolation, addiction, self-righteousness, pain, illness, rumination, gossip, lashing out on social media, blame, and of course, self-loathing. Anything to avoid the unbearable squeeze of change looming, and the knowledge that it is up to us to do something about it if we want to stop feeling this way.

When your heart opens, you fall in love. For your heart to open, you must be vulnerable. To be vulnerable, you must be willing to leave the safety of illusion and only see truth, no matter how shaky or painful.