TO BECOME STRONGER
What is it to become stronger?
To become better. To become unshakable. To become unmoved.
We all want to be stronger. Better. Tougher.
The world would be easier if we were stronger. Tougher. Unshakable.
We would not be knocked down so easily. We would not fall at a little push. We would not waver when the winds grow more fierce.
We would stand. Cause we’re strong.
But what does it take to become stronger?
To perform a specified action powerfully and vigorously.
To become fierce, intense, powerful, and a force to be reckoned with. What does it take? What does it cost?
To be become stronger, first, we must break it all down.
It must be reduced to nothing. It must be ground down with intensity and precision and time.
Time. I hate it. I hate the time it takes. The consistently day after day, year after year.
So much time. So much grinding. So much pain.
But it must be this way if I want to get stronger. If I want to be unshakable.
To be unshakable I must first be shaken.
To be unmovable I must be moved.
To be stronger I must be weakened. Again and again, until I am rebuilt. Until I am recovered. Until all that was in me was weak and useless and dying is now my ally. Until those things become my strengths.
As they world breaks me down. As the earth shakes. As the winds howl. I know, if I choose it, is for my benefit. Is better for me to endure.
Because after the shaking. After the howling. After the pain and grinding and breaking, I will stand there before it all stronger.
And I will be glad and thankful for it all.
Because I was defeated by none it. I was uprooted by none.
I am stronger now because of it. I am better.
The heart she cries. She screams and aches and tears against my chest. She begs. She pleads. She violently thrashes within me. She cries out for something different. Something real. Something to touch her, ignite her, and set her free. She will not be ignored. She...
And what do we do when we are afraid to try again? When the voices and feelings of doubt start to close in around us? We stare at the canvas, the page, the screen. Staring and afraid. Afraid that we might not be able to create as we once did. Afraid that we have...
I stand here at this unfamiliar door. I started in one place and have arrived in another. Through twists and turns and decisions made, I now stand here uncertain of things I use to know. As I stare at the worn wood and the faded bronze door knocker only one question...