I would like to note how absolutely crazy it is that just one, short week ago I was here, sitting pretty, writing about relief. My little pen, jauntily noting each grateful sigh. Breathe, I told you. Breathe!
Today, exactly one week later, I couldn’t be further from relieved. I take jagged little breaths that I hold, desperately, and tap my nails on my desk. And what’s worse, I’m a writer who’s unable to find the language for this. Even the right words won’t sufficiently express the twisted inside — the turning of my guts.
I’ll spare you the details of an already dramatic start to the Summer season, but I
can’t won’t spare you the nuggets of wisdom that are about to get handed to me. Yes, the lessons are still flowing like fucking milk and honey over here.
I’ve noticed that I always come to some epic turning point when I try facing someone else’s adversity. I think– I’m going to fix this person, and, most of the time they end up fixing me. I go in with gusto. I try to help. I’m a helper! The thing is, while I’m helping, I will get in their way. I’ll get in my own way too. Thus, helping nothing and no one. But, I assure you, my intentions were good. It’s just the follow through. The follow through gets muddy.
Yeah, yeah, I know– ultimately, what’s good for you will be good for me. Yes, yes, All-Is-One, OM SHAKTI OM, and Namaste! But seriously, here, in reality, where each emotion is its own Hiroshima, that’s a hard path to stay on. All this you and I. We and US…all this combining of stuff is too universal and complicated. It can’t be about US because then, well, what about meeeeeeee…
Why is it so difficult to step outside our comfort zones, our own realities, our STUFF? No matter how enlightened, spiritual, or positive you may be, no matter how many chakras you’ve got lit up, no matter how much happiness is coursing through your smiley-little-veins, no matter how nicely you’ve got your shit held together — it will all come undone. So, don’t be one of those people that allows yourself to think life’s a gravy train indefinitely. It’s more like a gravy boat and, eventually, you’ll have to dock, gas up, and clear out the poop deck.
This week my gravy boat has come a-crashin’ back to shore. Time to clear all the decks. Start again. Same boat, new sails. And despite ominous weather predictions, there is a strange beauty here, at the precipice of a new adventure, I’m able to stand with surety. Afraid. Alone. Undone. But, sure.
I’m not going down with the ship, because the ship isn’t going down.
That’s sobriety. Stepping into something and knowing the outcome, without really knowing the outcome. Some people will call it faith. Others will call it risky business. Some people call it trust. Some, stupidity. I call it bravery. And, I’m told, there is no better time to be brave than when you feel you are the world’s biggest coward.
So, I hoist the sails. I’m going to ride the tides until they throw me.
And, even then, I’m ready to swim.