Today I stumbled across this from poet Billy Collins:
“By the end of a poem, the reader should be in a different place from where he started. I would like him to be slightly disoriented at the end, like I drove him outside of town at night and dropped him off in a cornfield.”
It occurs to me that many (?most, all?) of the my great experiences in life – friendship, love, travel, accomplishment – all involved that feeling, that slight sense of disorientation. As much as I bemoan it at the time, that sense of unease is a harbinger of growth, and all growth stretches me a bit, makes me feel a bit uneasy until I grow into/become accustomed to it.
My task is not simply to tolerate the cornfield, but to accept, even enjoy it!