Papillon (aka Hot Butterfly)

We made it to Thanksgiving week, and I don't know about you--I am exhausted. My exhaustion is logical. Insert anything you could imagine in the list of things that tire out "good and grown" adults, and it might be a cause, but there is a bit more to the story underneath the surface. I find myself in a well-supported free fall—a thrilling, terrifying, uncharted plunge into unknown terrain. This free fall is strangely among the things I will be giving thanks for this week. I am profoundly thankful for the crossroads in which I currently reside. That doesn’t mean I don’t resist it; I resist hard. Resistance is tiring.

This moment is a pause from the day-to-day rhythm of work, or at least work as I’ve always known it. I’ve been given the gift of time: time to think, explore, and even embrace the sacred art of doing absolutely nothing (an essential balm for evolving).

My aunt recently commented that my life currently looks a lot like an adult Montessori. She’s right. Like a kid fresh from hours of hands-on exploration, I’m cart-seat tired—a weariness born of stretching, growing, and leaning into the unfamiliar.

In this newfound space, I’ve had the chance to sit with my parts—all the pieces of myself that are awakening after long dormancy. They’re tap-dancing across my body, mind, and spirit, giving me a full-body workout in transformation.

It’s easy to deny the need for metamorphic change, especially when your current reality works. Even if it’s not ideal, familiarity has its comforts. However, each time I've tried to deny something is breaking open inside me, I hear a small voice that softly says, "You're in evolution—now go evolve."Evolution isn’t pretty. It’s messy, uncomfortable, and often brutal. It demands that we slough off old parts of ourselves, rearrange our thoughts, and extend brutal yet necessary self-forgiveness. Becoming what you know you're meant to be frees you from your limits and creates a boundless possibility for the collective future. At least, I pray to find this on the other side.

There is also the exhaustion of it all, which, some days, makes me want to stay in bed, cocooned under blankets, avoiding the hallowing and the becoming. Yet, even as I hide, two truths wrestle within me.

One part of me is terrified that too much change will leave me unrecognizable in a world I’ve built to survive. The other half wants to jump head-first into the unknown realm, assured that my frequency is tuned correctly, my faith is actionable, and I am ready to create and flourish in worlds I never imagined.

This second part of me craves not just survival but thriving—anchored and abundant.

I give thanks not just for the comforts of the familiar but for the exhilarating, exhausting, and utterly necessary act of becoming.

What freedom is this I seek?

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