Shedding old skin can be hard. All births are painful and messy. The new, in its excitement at being born, tears and rips and cares less for what came before, while the old holds tight, clinging to familiar ground. Dylan said it best: he not busy being born is busy dying.
I often find myself stuck in the middle. Not entirely the old person and not yet the new. Feeling the pull of both future and past. Unsure of myself, I feel lost, confused, and lonely. In a lot of ways, I am like water. One moment hot, the next cold. High, low. Sinking, floating. Heavy, light. A single, solitary drop, yet part of an entire body, a whole ocean. Liquid. Solid. Gas. A shapeless being, taking form and filling into whatever environment I currently find myself in, constantly shifting and changing yet under the illusion of being in only one place.