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I have found in time that change rarely comes easy, and almost never when you want it to. Much like a house lit by a single bulb, there are only so many corners one can light. You cannot bid the light to shine brighter, nor bend its glow toward the place you’d rather see. It takes wandering through a few dim rooms, stubbing your toes on forgotten shapes, before the next room can be lit. Some people are wary of the dark; few have the privilege of walking through it with no fear at all. Whether you step into the unlit hallway where your father once slammed his doors, or remain unmoving in the dining room where your mother hurled her dishes— it changes nothing but where you shed your light. The unknown is frightening, both in not knowing what could happen and not knowing what would’ve happened had you dared to move rooms. And the next room will be just as shadowed, just as sharp and startling as the last. The only constant afforded to you is the changing of the bulb— the only constant, in truth, is change itself. It may wound you, but to burn out in the same room wounds you more. Because the truth is this: the bulb was never meant to last you forever— only long enough to lead you into somewhere new.

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