Crossroads

The brightness of the sun and clarity of the sky are a fitting backdrop to the crossroads I’m standing at.

While watching a nephew playing rugby on the weekend, I ran into an old colleague who asked whether I intended to return to the role I was doing three years ago.

It brought up a host of emotions, among them a bubbling thrill of excitement, and I realised part of me craves the sense of purpose I had when I was in that position.

This morning, I read a blog post about the death of parts of you, whether that’s “...a relationship, a job, a belief system, a way of being...” (From Leandra Rose's blog post Thoughts of death, Signs of Life.)

I’ve likened my transformation to one of rebirth, as old parts of me are released because they no longer serve who I am now. How I nourish myself with food and movement, what I watch, and how I spend my time are vastly different from when I was in that past role.

Is the excitement I feel at the prospect of standing for election again just the high sensation-seeking side of me rebelling against all these changes? Or is it a genuine desire to serve the community and our environment in a role I relished aspects of?

Reading Leandra’s blog, I wonder whether it’s a combination of needing to use my skills for the community and a rebellion against the quiet life I’ve built.

I miss aspects of the role, the fascination and sense of purpose I feel when working with legislation and resource management, the people I can assist in the community, and the joy I feel when the work I’m involved in genuinely makes a difference in people’s lives and our environment. Then there’s the other side of the role, the public scrutiny and relentless barrage of negativity.

There’s been so much change in the past few years, part of me is rebelling against it. There have been many “deaths”: the death of the lifestyle I led, the quick-fix hit of the dopamine sugar rush from the foods I used to consume, and using my work and schedule as an excuse for inactivity.

The changes are vast after several years, slowly unpicking and remaking myself.

I don’t drink alcohol. I eat a whole foods plant-based nutritarian diet (no animal products). I practice yoga and push myself physically daily. I spend most of my days alone, and the only major decisions I make are what food to prepare and what I’ll do all day.

To say there’s been a death of the person I used to be is not overstating things, and while I am developing a slow, holistic business to walk others through their own transformations, there’s a sense that I may need to develop more of a community around me.

Does wanting to be more, to contribute more, translate into standing for my old role, or does it mean I’m at a major crossroads, butting up against the last bastion of my old self?

The biggest difference between the woman I am now and the one I was is that I’ll take the time to let these questions percolate while maintaining my healthy living practices and trust that the answers will come in time.

I have nothing to prove to anyone.

Much of what I did in the past was about proving my worth. Now, there’s been a fundamental shift at my core.

I have nothing to prove to anyone.

If I put myself into the race for my old role, it will be as a very different person. I have nothing to prove, so the outcome is a matter of the universe directing me to where I need to be.

There’s no going back in terms of my transformation, and if this means that old hat no longer fits, so be it. I’ll contribute elsewhere, in a different way.

Developing the tools to change old beliefs and create a healthier, more balanced life is about identifying your purpose and a vision for who you want to be and what you want from life, then setting the small goals, the footsteps, to make that happen.

The process has taken me from being continuously burnt out, unwell, injured, and exhausted to being fitter, stronger, and more flexible than ever before. More importantly, I’ve shaken off old habits and beliefs that no longer serve me, some so deeply entrenched they were part of my autonomic nervous system response and identity.

This crossroad is interesting, and I’m fairly certain my answer lies in looking forward, rather than looking back. The fear of the unknown looks less scary than the known, and it’s easy to wear those rose-tinted glasses provided by the distance of time.

A different path lies ahead, and I have nothing to prove to anyone.