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I have completed everything easy on my to-do list. What’s left is big and scary, two huge projects that both excite me and demand a whole hell of a lot of authentic showing up on my part.
I am trying really hard to hide from the vulnerability.
I just want to be on the other side of it already – or at least have a guarantee that the walk through the fire will be worth it.
But that’s not how life works.
If it did, courage wouldn’t exist.
In real life, sometimes the thing you think you’ve wanted all along turns out to be a horrible idea.
In real life, sometimes you swing and miss.
In real life, sometimes you get up on the stage and choke.
In real life, sometimes you put yourself out there and the world answers not with wild applause or lobbed tomatoes, but with silence.
The silence is the worst possibility.
I’ve been fighting my fear with busy work and easy tasks. And procrastination.
My time for avoidance is running out though. There is only so long that you can avoid jumping before you choose walking away by default.
I have nowhere wonderful to walk away too, because I am brilliant at blowing up bridges and setting fire to my escape roads.
But still I’m tempted to put the hard stuff off a little longer.
Tempted isn’t the right word. Tempted reminds me of wedding nights and chocolate covered ice cream sundaes.
I’m gagging on the lump in my throat.
I’m terrified.
I’m paralyzed by the threat of the silence.
But maybe this is all just a 30-second dog fence.
Invisible dog fences keep animals in place with fear. As dogs get close, they are given a little bit of hurt, just enough to believe that surely all that lies outside the yard is hurt.
In reality, all that stands between a dog and complete freedom is about 30 seconds of pain.
I had a dog once that figured that out. He would yelp for 30 seconds while he ran through the barrier, and it was a horrible sound.
But then it was over, and he was free.
I know that most of our fears are just 30-second fences standing between us and freedom.
But it’s hard to know that for sure when you first start to feel the shock.
We are hardwired to run from the pain, not to push through it just in case it only lasts for a little bit.
I’m hyper aware that this is a moment to choose courage.
My options are put myself out there or stay sitting in the dark.
I know that the dark space is shrinking and will probably make me anxious, resentful, and unhappy.
Putting myself out there can lead to:
- Acceptance
- Rejection
- Silence
I want the acceptance, of course. We all do.
But do I want it badly enough to risk rejection or silence?
Can I survive either of those outcomes?
I have in the past. It has sucked – sucked horribly, to be honest.
But you know what? It hasn’t ever sucked quite as badly as I thought it would.
That’s not as comforting as you would think.
But it is just comforting enough to push me off the ledge.
The net will appear. Or it won’t.
And either way, I will survive.
Because I have wings.
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