It’s been months since I’ve last been able to find my voice to write again. I don’t have enough emotion, I don’t have anything too enlightening or compelling to tell. I did though want to give an explanation. And in that, I found I had it in me for another story.
Years ago, I trained for and ran a half marathon. I was dealing with a strong heartbreak and needed something to help me feel strong again. I hated running before that, I didn’t think I was very capable. I fell in love with running after. I asked 3 others for support that day. I remember thinking that day, these people will be in my life forever.
I was intentional about who I let walk out of my life, but not yet about who I let myself grow close to.
For those who know me well, they would explain my character as….head strong. I put my foot in my mouth more often than I would like, I’m short tempered, stubborn, proud, and fiercely independent, to a fault. That has always been me, as I can embarrassingly recall many memories. But that side of me used to be always tapered with a bubblier, friendlier, meeker version.
People grow intoxicated to the bubbly version. She’s easy to like. She’s easy to please. She doesn’t have bad days.
I have grown to appreciate the people who love me for all of me, not just when I shower them with the pink confetti of life’s joys.
I half expected this year to be my receding tide year. Life is cyclical and it wouldn’t be long before the waves would start pulling me back away from the coast. I was hoping everything before this would have prepared me to take a hit again. And it did, I’m not falling apart. I’m not where I want to be, but I still have most of myself in one piece.
But I’m not going to lie, getting to the finish line, is like that 7th mile, where you’re not sure your legs will take you through the last 6. I’m growing anxious. I know I’m literally past half of the obstacle but question my strength to get to the end. Or even how I’ll feel when I get there.
It’s a well known fact, that I bury myself in projects to deal (read: not deal) with my feelings. I don’t have to think, I don’t have to feel, if my hands are moving. Writing is the opposite of that, I have to sit and reflect on what I’m processing. And it’s been uncomfortable for months. I am too angry, I am too hurt, I am too tired.
Back when I used to be cool, I bungee jumped off one of the world’s top 5 highest bungee jumps. I didn’t hesitate long to jump, you got pushed if you did, and I knew I was not going to be one of the one’s pushed.
The jump took my breath away. The view took my breath away. The fact that in that moment that I felt completely alive, took my breath away. That is how I approach life, I get an idea in my head and go for it, full engines ahead. What I didn’t anticipate is after you’ve jumped, after the bungee stops swinging, you’re just hanging there. Waiting to get pulled back up.
That’s when I noticed that at any moment the grips around my ankles could loosen and it would be 216 meters down to a permanent bed of sharp rocks and hard waves. I panicked, I just prayed that my chicken ankles expanded in size and that the person propelling down to pull be back up would arrive quickly.
My heart is restless. There is so much I still want to do.
I’ve already jumped, I’m just waiting to get pulled back onto solid ground. And I know whose rooting for me, and whose hoping that I fall.