**Note: Written 3 September, 2018. Posted one week later.**

Tomorrow is a new start. I will move to a new state to begin a new job and move in with new people.

Naturally, I am feeling a little nervous about this transition.

But, the thing is, as the self-doubt slowly creeps in, I am keenly aware that my nerves and concerns are not of the normal variety.

I sense that my fear of this change isn’t rooted in hesitation or a desire to stay where I am, but out of a deep craving I possess for change itself.

I spent much of my childhood moving constantly. I became accustomed to a new school, life and group of friends each year. I learned of self-reliance and conceited loneliness: a certain power that can be held by keeping others an arm’s distance away, never letting them past my defenses or my persona.

My fear is that I will step back into these old habits: that I will try to reinvent myself rather than bare the ugliness of my heart to the newcomers into my narrative.

I want to trust. I want the strength to invest.

Understanding that the excitement of newness can’t fulfill me, I am free to fixate on the constancy of both the God who is going with, before and behind me and the story he is crafting in my midst.

I am choosing to invest in and grow the passions that my heart beats for—passions for justice against the evils which reside in both our homes and hearts, equality for every human so worthy of love, and belonging for the heart who feels lost or alone.

For maybe the first time, I see purpose in a life transition. I am not moving for the sake of excitement or external circumstances, I am pursuing what is constant.

I am not running away. I am running deeper.

I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you shall be clean from all your uncleanliness, and from all your idols I will cleanse you. And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. Ezekiel 36: 25-26