small worlds

To avoid confusion, let me first say that I love circumstances in which I can proclaim "what a small world!" Like when I meet someone in Italy from the Bay Area who I have two mutual friends with. Or when I start a conversation in Chinese with my dentist's receptionist and she turns out to be my college friend's mom. Love that.

No, what I am talking about is living in a small world. For the last two years I feel a bit like I have been trapped in a bubble, and I have made several attempts to push at the edges, to see how far I can take this bubble.

The bubble isn't evil. In fact, it's a source of almost pure good. I am all for good. It's safe, it's comfortable, it's known. We were born from a bubble and lucky(?) people have the option of remaining in the bubble for their entire lives. I put a question mark next to lucky because you can see it in many ways. To be unwillingly forced from the bubble at an early, unprepared stage is cruel to any human. Also, maybe some find the bubble a curse, thus unlucky to even have a bubble to begin with.

Me...I see it as a mixed blessing. On one hand, I love having something to return to. It's nice to have a home base, to know exactly where to find something, who to go to in times of need, where my friends are, what my family is doing. I love my bubble and I would be devastated if I didn't have it. On the other hand though, I often feel trapped by my bubble and have such urges to break out of it. I don't want to leave it in the past or discard it, nothing like that. I just need a little door. I need to see the exit and to know that entry in and out is free of charge and easily accessible.

This move signals a permanent new fixture on my bubble. A door has been installed and I will be stepping through its threshold in two weeks. Luckily I won't be walking through it alone. Baby steps are still steps and that's what counts.