I shed my chrysalis of security
Arising as a butterfly
Only then realizing
I was not the worm
That I appeared
I am struck by how the quest for security can easily become a prison. Whether the quest for security is played out through money, material comforts, emotional familiarity, moral compromise, or big, juicy mental rationalizations, letting go of the known, familiar, and predictable seems necessary to take flight amidst the “unbearable lightness of being“. Apparently, a common regret of the dying is about not having taken enough risks. Well, we are all dying. The question is really: Am I living?