It’s hard to decide what to do with them.  Sometimes, they’re legitimate, but for what reason I cannot pinpoint.  Like today when I discussed with D about a process that she wanted to change– I wasn’t too keen on her idea but I couldn’t verbalize my feeling, so eventually I went with her process since her argument won me over.  Later in the afternoon though, R told me he had talked to D and they wanted to not do that because of x, y, z, to which I nodded.  It was as if he verbalized in a logical fashion what my feelings had told me.  Yes, that’s right!  I knew there was something to it.  But I didn’t tell him that.

Then there are the times when I hesitate behind the wheel.  A yellow light, an unprotected left-hand turn, a parallel parking job where I can’t quite figure out how close I am to the car behind me.  And sometimes in that second of thought, I realize I should have gone.  I shouldn’t have hesitated.  I guess that’s what that book Blink was about, but I’m still not so sure about the theory.  In these decisions, I would be told to not wait for my hesitation.  I hesitate to go, I should have gone.  I hesitate to change my procedure, I should not have changed.  But is this always the case?  After all, a book was made from it, so who knows what other juicy details were left out that perhaps did not add to the topic?

Then there are the hesitations to do what I am not accustomed to doing.  Taking charge, settling with an imperfect situation because time won’t allow, verbalizing a previous hesitation that I had kept to myself.  These are the ones, that when overthrown, seem positive, or at least, growth-oriented, if not positive.  To dive across my hesitation forces me out of my comfort zone, into a realm of the unknown, and I come to find that the situations are not as dreadful as I make them out to be.  Sure, they aren’t entirely comfortable, but life is ever changing anyway.  The hesitation to speak at a microphone, the hesitation to hug a friend, the hesitation to pray, these are hesitations better plowed through, challenged, and triumphed over.

I sat at my desk today and finished the rest of Anne of Avonlea.  It leaves me in a dreamlike state, looking at the world through a poetical frame.  Soon the bare wall is my canvas to paint on, with hurts here and there from old pins, scrapes from past residents.  It stands ever open for beautification, love, company.  An old friend, ever sturdy, ever stable, sometimes forgotten in its self-effacing radiance.


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