I’m trying to turn a new page on things in my life. At the moment, I picture myself struggling in that endeavor, stooped over a book on the floor, with both hands pulling at the corner of that page – trying with all my might to turn it. No matter how hard I try, the page doesn’t budge. I strain every muscle, from the tips of my fingers, into my hands, through my arms, into my shoulders, down my back, pulling and pulling. My feet are firmly planted, my legs locked in an effort to garner some sort of leverage. Still nothing.
I work myself into exhaustion. Do I give up? Do I keep pushing through? The little voice in the back of my head tells me to keep pulling. By putting everything I have into the effort, I will eventually get the page to move. The first time I give up, is when it would have taken one more pull, from the depths of my soul, to get it to move. Isn’t that the way it always goes?
So, I keep pulling. And, pulling. And, pulling.