Probably Just the Shape of Me

This human experience may be the only time we really get to undergo the challenge of limitations.

I’ve always wondered about that.

Years ago, I found a scribbled note in Celso’s home that read, “I come here to discover all the things I can live without.”

It was a beautiful way of looking at this experience, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me tear up every time I think about it.

It also made me think that maybe this humble human experience is the only time our expansiveness can slip into the confines of a time-limited, unpredictable, 3-dimensional plane, where we squeeze into these flawed, clumsy bodies containing wildly imperfect thoughts and emotions while stumbling through ridiculous predicaments, and hopefully doing some good and making things easier for others until we wear ourselves out.

And every time we do this, we swear it will be the very last time.

So we make all the mistakes, as big and bad as we possibly can, so we’ll have something to laugh and shine on about in 7-dimensional planes.

If we are very lucky, maybe we have experiences here that make us think, “I could probably go another round,” just as we are running out of steam.

I have been feeling the confines of life lately with a heaping side of impending doom.

The perfectly symmetrical Venn diagram of dumb luck, gratitude, loss, desire, disappointment, and fear can be tricky to wade through down here in the earthly mud. It’s both easy and difficult at the same time. Everyone has so much more than us and everyone has it so much worse than us all at once.

And it’s a luxury to even have a moment to think about all of this, never mind the freedom to type it out and the ability to send it to outer space or wherever my words go when I hit enter.

This time of constraints and limits made me think of one of my health emergencies last year. I had to get yet another MRI after a scary few days in an uneasy year. The cool, sterile confines of the white MRI machine were a welcome escape from the MRI tech who excitedly asked me questions about my health emergency, at one point begging for all the gory details.

As I found a still point in my mind and body and allowed the tray to insert me into the machine, I remembered how claustrophobic I was. After a flash of panic came a whole body sigh. I closed my eyes, and almost instantly, the tray delivered me back to fluorescent lights and a boundaryless tech.

I realized that I had fallen asleep.

Twice.

In the MRI.

With booming noises, freezing cold air, and a healthy dose of lifelong claustrophobia, I managed to have a deep and restful sleep.

Limits. Constraints. Smallness. Even discomfort.

All of it can be a strange opportunity. It could lead you to a much-needed nap, or it could lead you to the next right thing.

I’ve been thinking about giving up some things that have taken up too much space in my life for far too long and imagining what shape life would take without all of it.

Probably just the shape of me.

Wouldn’t that be nice?