NdukuOutLoud

Lately, I’ve felt a pull-a quiet but persistent urge to live my life more fully. To love wholly. To be present in every moment, in every way possible. To enjoy the little things and the big ones. To live.

At first, it felt magical. It still does-as I figure out more and more ways. Like I had unlocked a secret door to joy. I wondered why I hadn’t been doing this all along. Why have I been playing small? Why have I been holding back?

But then, the other feelings came.

Fear.Worry.Doubt.

We’ve all heard the stories-the ones that say purposeful lives are somehow shorter. That once you’ve fulfilled your purpose, your time is up(and maybe that’s why I question this idea of one life long purpose for everyone)). It’s poetic, sure. But it’s also terrifying.

Does living fully mean we’re racing toward the end? Doe achieving more, loving deeper, risking vulnerability somehow shorten the time we have?

And if so.. do we still do it?

Do we still live, even at the risk of “finishing” sooner.

There’s another layer to this fear. One that’s harder to name.

If I show up for people-if I love them fiercely, remember their birthdays, keep my promises, hold their hands through the hard stuff-won’t it be harder for them to let me go?

Wouldn’t it be easier if I were distant? Detached? If I didn’t matter so much?

It’s a haunting thought.

Have I learnt how to live with this fear? Not yet.

But I am realizing, and learning, that it doesn’t have to lead. It walks beside me.

Because, at the end of the day, we don’t get to control how long we’re here. But we do get to choose how deeply we live.

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”-Oscar Wilde