when inaction just won't do

I was a master of inaction.

I dedicated years of my life to learning invisibility. I watched from the edge, the corner, watched closely, but did not interfere. I didn't volunteer my opinions, advices, or beliefs. I let people assume what they would, but did not solicit their concern. If self-effacement is an art, I was an artist. Or thought I was, and pretended to be satisfied.

But now, ten years later, I regret those habits I so painstakingly formed and built, fortress-like, around my self. Because now, when I want to be known, want to be involved, want to speak, want to act, I battle not only unformed habits but also formed anti-habits. It's not just that I don't know very well how to relate with, live with, and love on people - I know very well how to cut them out, avoid them, and hold them at a cautious distance or in casual disdain.

Doing nothing is easy.

But doing nothing is neither acceptable nor desirable.

"It is given to man to lift up the fallen and to free the imprisoned. Not merely to wait, not merely to look on! Man is able to work for the redemption of the world. The work is not yours to finish, but neither are you free to take no part in it."

I always knew this. Deep inside, under all the layers of self protection, isolation and indifference felt wrong. Dissatisfaction curled in my gut, but all those noises outside were unfamiliar and frightening and potentially dangerous and it was simpler to stay alone behind closed doors and shuttered windows with a half-empty mug of cold tea, staring into a pathetic smoky fire.

At some point, dissatisfaction grew so big, and my curiosity got so strong, and all my little dreams begged so loudly to be let out of the stifling room, that I started opening the windows. And sometimes the doors. Then stepping outside to breathe, to play, to explore.

Now I've gotten so far away from that little smoky hut that I'd have trouble finding it again. Yet I still habitually look for shelter. I flee loud noises. I hide from people. I sit, knees pulled up, back against a wall or tree, wondering if life ever feels stable or secure. And always, always, there's a running discussion in my head over whether I want to explore alone or with someone else, and whether I can trust people or not, and whether anyone will want to go to the places I want to go, or find interesting the things I find interesting (which is almost everything), and how in the world will I manage finding my friends in this great wide life if we step away from each other for a moment.

The habits of fear, of doubt, of second-guessing, are strong. Retreating is still easier than pressing through.

But it just won't do anymore.

I've seen enough love, heard enough answers, enjoyed enough spontaneity, received enough encouragement, and felt enough life, that I can not - will not - back away. I know what it's like to get this far - how could I stop now?

I have felt myself grow, deepen, strengthen; I feel more alive, more complex, more full than I've ever been. I have tasted freedom, joy, trust, abundant laughter, and fun. And I want more.

I want to become a master of action. This doesn't mean some uncontrollable, undirected wildness - doing things for the sake of staying busy. Rather, the one who is a master of action knows when - and how - to be still as well as to be in motion. It is the comprehensive attainment of balance.

I want to be one of whom it can be truly said "she is never shaken or dismayed." I want to be one who persistently explores the depths and potentials of goodness and strength, in myself, in others, in communities, in this world. I desire consistency among my thoughts, words, and actions. I desire truth in the inmost parts. I desire peace, and joy, and health, and strength. I desire challenge, stretching, development. I want to be a different person yet again next year than I am this year. I want my actions to be thoroughly directed by the conviction that there is always hope, always growth, always a future.

Let there be life; and let that life be abundant and free.