I’m feeling the edge again. It’s so frequent now you’d think it was every day. It’s like part of me is grasping the edge of a cliff, I’m just dangling.. one hand left on and I have to pull every ounce of my strength and throw my body weight into reaching my other hand up to grab the ledge.
I know I can do it, I want to know what’s up there. What am I giving my everything to? What’s it going to look like? Who is going to be there with me? Where am I? Are we staying or going? Am I alone still? Am I still on this solo journey? Or will my life partner join me? How long is the next leg of the journey? Do I pull myself up over the ledge and then have to climb mountains? Or will I wander into an oasis where I’m drinking piña coladas on my floatie?
Here’s the thing about not knowing- it’s as scary for me as it is exciting.
And sometimes in my hurry to scale the cliff I feel intense frustration and pressure. On myself. If I push too hard- if I don’t honor the rest, I don’t have the strength to make it up and over. It takes me a bit longer. And it hurts my heart. I’m generally ok with however anything turns out, lessons, pain, love.. it’s all a part of the master plan.
But here I am, on the edge every day- stretchinggggg and fuck if I don’t want to just press the button on my jet pack and get straight to that piña colada. But more growth awaits, and I will let it be. Just me and this cliff. Refueling and ready to throw my legs over the edge and roll into the dirt like the badass renegade that I am. Because once I get back up and start walking you’ll see my back, I’ll be wearing a sweet motorcycle jacket and I’ll be leading the way to heaven on earth- and I hope you’ll follow.