The scary cupboard, revisited

So, this is what the inside of the scary cupboard looks like. (For the original post, check March 5, 2007... if I knew how to link it, I would!) Still sort of scary... and I could only take one picture before tearing back up the stairs to Junkin Common. My friend, Heather, was with me, thank goodness. Perhaps if we'd had a flashlight we would've looked more. It smelled pretty awful - wet, mildew, dark, damp, close. And there was a huge silverfish on the back of the cupboard door.

Why are we so afraid of the unknown? Seems like we should be used to it. Life, every day, is unpredictable. But I pretend I know what's going to happen tomorrow: I'll wake up, take a shower, go to morning prayer, go work at the ATR, go to Eucharist, go to lunch...

But, really, I don't know what could happen. Even if I do all those things tomorrow, I don't know what someone might say to me, what small events will color my tasks one way or another, what email I might get, what might get bombed, what might happen to people I love, or whether lunch will be any good. So I find ways to cope. Every morning I do the same things: wrap myself in the same afghan, feed the cat, check the weather. Singing psalms every day at chapel helps a lot.

But lately, I feel like a hermit crab outgrowing my shell. I don't want to come out, but I also sort of want something new and roomier. So, I have to let go of a lot of my own survival instinct - the instinct to keep myself safe. I've started opening scary doors. Even if all I find is pipes and dirt and junk and who knows what else. But I don't think I'll actually find that in many other places.