Ready or not, here I am
As a motivated, driven goal-setter and achiever, the more I struggle with “letting sh*t happen,” the more I realize just how badly I need to let it happen.
For me, “getting sh*t done” and keeping insanely busy is a trauma response. I often run, distract, and rescue. I hike, plan, and explore. While exploring the outside world of fun, health, and growth, I’ve realized that the highest peaks and lowest valleys and darkest caves that need to be explored are all inside us.
I would often find myself staring at the vastest sea of summits that stretch beyond the horizon. How insignificant my problems feel when I am in the middle of so much greatness. I feel an overwhelming sense of joy, relief, and excitement. After I sit with these emotions, I would then feel waves of sadness.
Sad that I can’t stare at this forever.
Sad that no matter what I do, this would not be here one day; I could never fully protect it.
Sad that people, who deserve and need to see such beauty, may never get the opportunity to.
Sad that I don’t deserve to be here if not everyone else can.
I am learning to sit and identify my sadness. Sit and feel these emotions and watch them like a clumsy friend you invite over for tea but are on edge because they may break your finest china. I invite them out to observe, learn, and understand why they are here, and then send them on their way when we are done with our tea.
I no longer sit with my sadness for days, or even hours.
I no longer want to hold onto things I cannot keep, in fear of never “having” what I never had to begin with.
I no longer feel guilt and shame for living my life the way I want.
I still cry in nature from the vastness and beauty.
I still pull over at every lookout to take it all in.
I still plan, hike, and adventure.
The difference is my skeletons are no longer in my closet. They are in my living room sharing tea, telling me their stories, and I am listening.
Sometimes we are ready for these changes and sometimes we are not. Sometimes we have no control, and the universe has other plans in store for us. I think the best thing we can continue to do for ourselves and everyone around us is to listen.
It’s 40 degrees, brisk, and sunny. A chill rolls in off the lake.
The leaves litter the ground, and I close my eyes, pretending that it’s autumn.
The leaves tell another story, you see.
They are brittle, brown, and wrinkled, proved to have aged a winter’s season.
I’m not ready for spring and summer.
I’m not ready for sunshine and warmth.
I’m not ready to step into the light.
But like the sprouting seed breaking through the frosted morning soil,
The hatching chick tirelessly cracking through its old home,
The pollinating bees grace from flower to flower,
A hibernating cub that stirs in his den,
All moving, growing, and looking forward.
Is anyone ever ready?
If we wait for opportunity to determine when we are ready, chances of a lifetime pass us by.
I’ll never be ready for that kind of loss.
Ready or not. Here I am.
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