A Body in Transition

It's always fortunate to have choices. But when change arrives with such conviction, so swift and complete, why does it still feel like there's a shadow lurking at the edges?

Here I am, casting myself into countless alternate realities, pathways unfolding like delicate threads, each one a new shape I try on. There's a line that leads to my PhD pursuits, another on the opportunity to teach somewhere. And now there's another line, one that leads to a team I never expected. I suppose, after all this time, I was just curious. I remember before joining the department how I longed to understand what it meant to steer such a complex operation, this vast machinery of wellbeing holding itself against the surface of an entire university.

But I never expected it to come with such overwhelming support, at such dizzying speed. Everything happened within a single week. I remember carrying the thought of it for a few days, my stomach gnawing at me. It wasn't the kind that demanded immediate satisfaction, but a persistent craving for something more, something different. I found myself contemplating the very idea of merging my counselling skillset, feeding this growing appetite by stepping across the yard, to touch my feet on that other side. A space so often empty, yet filled with hills that rise and fall, with races that begin and end without warning. And then the hunger became undeniably loud, loud enough to call for a meeting to let them know I was interested. I remember framing it purely strategically then, a calculated move to cover both grounds, to claim the job I had secretly coveted all along. All along, well that feels like a stretch. But within the realities out there, it was a feast I was ready to consume.

And then, what I had imagined would be a measured conversation with the director, unfolding over days, perhaps even a week - instead happened overnight. They were ready. All they needed was a simple affirmation, a single word. And so it all stands still, waiting for me. It’s as if I’ve been handed the meal I’ve been secretly craving. Rich, nourishing, exactly what I wanted.

And yet my body recoils, caught between joy and suspicion. I’m reminded of that research I stumbled upon at the academic conference, the one about the cultural fear of happiness. How sometimes, when something good arrives, it feels like a prelude to something darker, louder, like a storm waiting in between the humid heat. Where is the catch? Where's the hidden cost? Surely these changes shouldn't feel so seamless and abrupt. Did I do something wrong? Was there a promise I failed to see and take notice?

These questions, over time, feel like scabs. A raised, rough patch on the skin of my thoughts. I find myself picking at them, gently tracing their edges, even though I know it will only make them bleed again. And when I expose the raw tender fear beneath, I see them again. The fear that happiness is a trick, that getting what I want so easily is a sign I've missed some crucial, painful experience.

Perhaps I’m simply keeping my options open, light on my feet in this new territory. I sift through possibilities like streaks of white sand, the grains cool and shifting beneath my bare soles as I graze the surface of this new terrain. My body and mind drift where they will, carried by winds I can’t quite name, a dancer exploring the edges of the stage without a set choreography. To step forward without knowing the path, moving into something terrifying and exhilarating.

Is such a dance a strength or a weakness? I'm told it looks like a poor state of indecision, a lack of clarity or strategy, out of sync against expected steps. But maybe it’s a different kind of clarity, a faith in the nonlinear, the unpredictable movements of life. There is choreography inside me, and I can feel it, trust that whatever steps I make, however unconventional, will guide me to where I’m meant to be.

I don’t have the answers yet. But right now, I’m excited. Excited to be small again, a body ready to absorb the messiness like a sponge, sitting with discomfort, embracing the steep learning curve. When my colleague said my decision felt respectable, it struck a chord. Perhaps it’s in the midst of challenge and uncertainty, on this sandy, shifting ground, that this hunger reveals itself. This fierce, restless appetite for fresh experiences – a hunger that moves me.

So why resist it? Why not simply follow the rhythm?