4 min read
What do you do when you have come to a halt, and all momentum seems gone? What do you do when all the common motivators that keep us moving have lost not only their power, but all meaning? What do you do when what used to work just doesn’t work anymore? I’m not sure. But I’m in the process of finding out.
For as long as I can remember I ran on fear, with force being the main operative. Recently something that I could not have even imagined happened unexpectedly. It turns out that fear can run out of steam. I’m not saying that overnight I became a very zen person. Unfortunately, I did not. But something quintessential changed.
It took me some time to figure out what exactly had changed. The whole concept was foreign to me. It actually still is. I no longer have to prove my worth. I no longer have to prove to anyone that I am good enough. Especially not to myself. It seems that somewhere in the past months my inner-abuser ran out of coal.
The fire in the firebox went out. The water in the boiler cooled. And the engine stopped. I am dead in the water. And I’m fine! This comes as a shock. Because I always imagined the worst. I could not, in any way, have anticipated this level of okayness. Instead of the usual panic, and frantically trying to get somewhere, I’m feeling mostly at peace.
I’m sitting with my legs over the side of the boat, letting my feet dangle. I never knew how much noise that engine made. Without the constant heavy drone, I am amazed by the silence. I notice the water lapping at the bow. It’s mesmerizing. I revel in the squealing of seagulls soaring overhead. What a joy to hear something else than the pounding sound of that engine. I feel strangely liberated from something I had never realized was so overbearing
As I am sitting here, breathing in the clean sea air, something else catches my attention. There is a gentle flapping, as well as an irregular tapping sound. To my side, and overhead. I turn my eyes towards the sound, and see, to my great surprise, a mast, rigging, and a sail. Running around in the frenzy of my mind, I must have been blind to an obvious reality.
As I am sitting here, breathing in the clean sea air, something else catches my attention. There is a gentle flapping, as well as an irregular tapping sound. To my side, and overhead. I turn my eyes towards the sound, and see, to my great surprise, a mast, rigging, and a sail. It seems I have been blind to another way of moving through the world.
I close my eyes. I feel the warmth of the sun. A few moments later I become aware of the cooling breeze. Both on my face, simultaneously. Two realities can exist at the same time, I realize. It is all a matter of focus. The sail was there all along. I never noticed because I was forced to focus on getting there, wherever that may be, as efficiently as possible.
The old way of forcing my way through life isn’t working anymore, but it still is semi-automate response. The new way, letting myself be guided by playfulness, curiosity and enthusiasm has passed from my head to my heart, but is in no way embodied yet. I am in an in-between stage. A transition of sorts.
This new way, unlike the old way, has no set trajectory. I don’t even have a map; this is uncharted territory. This asks for a whole new set of skills. I must adopt a different mindset. I must be the Picard of my own galactic sailboat, boldly going where no one has gone before. It is not only surrendering to the unknown, it is embracing not-knowing. It’s allowing myself to be steered. It means I must trust the winds of inspiration to bring me where I need to be.
This doesn’t come easy to me. It may be natural to me, but life superimposed some hard to forget experiences. In my mind, I can still hear my inner-abuser scream, “Faster! FASTER, you-good-for-nothing bitch!! You’re lagging behind! Again!” Sometimes, I can remember that voice so clearly that it seems real. But then close my eyes, breathe in deeply, and focus on the sounds out there. And I remember that it is a voice of the past.
My feet are dangling over the water, again. I’m staring into the distance, eyes unfocused. I just inspected the rigging and the sail. To get this boat ready to sail, I need to mend the sail, and clear the fouled lines. And, tiny detail, learn how to sail. But there is no haste. I’ve been my own slavedriver for far too long. First I need to rest. And dream. And play. I’m slowly realizing that life is an adventure. And this is my adventure.
If this resonated with you, then consider sharing it with someone who will love it too or could use it in their lives right now. And while you’re in the flow, you may want to subscribe to my newsletter as well. Biweekly, I will send you a letter, called three.word.wednesday. My intention, to inspire and inform. Don’t worry, I won’t spam you. Scout’s honor.
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picture by Bru-nO