Every moment for the past 40 years has been rapid, like I’m navigating wet stepping-stones set too far apart across an angry current, and you just know the bone crushing waterfall waits around the corner. You can feel it. Adrenaline pulsing, mind racing activity focused on sheer survival. I’ve always been able to quickly stay the course and hop back and forth across the slippery banks of pain and pleasure. But what about happiness?
When Hope transitioned almost two years ago I had to stop staring at my feet and let go of where I thought I was headed. My inwardness (my extroverted disguise) was challenged for the first time, despite acting as a mother for almost 6 years and I needed to let go. I jumped, sailed down that river and across the bend to meet that watery cliff… and off I went.
I’ve been falling these past two years, and sharing that lovely suspension with you. In that time I’ve caught my breath, used my voice and even lifted my self-imposed veil of secrecy. I’ve been the mother and the person I’d always hoped I could be. Meaningful stuff. And, like every journey, you never stay in one spot for too long.
Last week I felt the whoosh, like when you nervously dive off the highest diving board and finally ignite with the water below, and I had to make another choice. Stay in the dark bliss below the surface where you can hide or rise up to face what lies above in the light. Tempting as the coziness below feels, I am destined to ascend. To move on. Hope and Will show me that every day, their resiliency and raw courage radiating with each smile. I’ve made it. I jumped and I survived. Now what?
“Allow yourself to be needy Jen,” my Reiki Master told me this weekend, “Other people, I tell them to be less dependent on others, but you? You do just fine all by yourself.” And it’s true. I’d rather crawl into my comforting seclusion than have to work out life’s complexities with others. It feels weird. I wasn’t raised that way. I was trained to be fiercely independent, strong to a fault and so resilient it scares people, but that’s not taking me to the next level spiritually. I’m not in this world alone, and I don’t want to be. I want more. I need more.
So for the first time friends are hearing that I need them and it feels good. I guess I always thought that if I asked for what I needed that no one would listen. Back then I didn’t have enough love for myself to even try. Most friends have generously opened their arms wide to embrace me, accepting me for who I am right now – imperfect and completely honest. Others lost my phone number (and email address) when I showed my first sign of weakness. It stings a bit, but when I look around at who is left I see that I am blessed. I am loved. I am whole. And I can move forward with my heart and mind wide open.