Boston got hit with a big ol’ blizzard yesterday, leaving us all a little bit buried. And as I stare out of my bedroom window onto the adjacent roof tops all covered in a hefty helping of heavy snow, I can’t help but think about what it means to feel stuck.
I’m pretty sure there is no such thing as “stuck”. We make it up so we feel better about not being able to decide what to do with ourselves. When we’re surrounded by a feeling of heavy wetness that prevents us from even leaving the house, it’s easy to feel as if we have no choice but to stay put. We forget how we used to stomp around when we were kids, bundled up to our eyeballs in snow gear, having snowball fights and building igloos with any other kids that happened to be nearby.
We forget how to unstick ourselves.