Contact is crisis.
As members of society, perhaps the most difficult task we face daily is that of touching one another--whether the touch is physical, moral, emotional, or imaginary. Contact is crisis. As the anthropologists say, "every touch is a modified blow."
The recurring theme lately in my life - feeling the weight of decisions, moves, touches. The interplay of contact being either a ballet or a total catastrophe, and fielding the consequences afterward. It reminds me of a talk on the experience of skydiving that I very much experienced myself at 12,000 feet in the air: the process of fear, the conscious decision to move forward, growth in ugliness that in the meantime contributes and creates more of who you are. That God placed the best things in life on the other side of terror. That bliss is on the other side of fear.
Trying to remember that I'm deep in the process, and that most things are temporary. But also that temporary often influences a foundation for the future, and even forever. You'll find me half fighting, half surrendering - between giving myself grace for being imperfect in a space where perfection is required, and seeking to achieve greatness.