Leaping

I'm standing on the edge of a cliff today.  I look far down into a dark, choppy thing that looks more like a solid than what I know is water.  Water that will engulf me with one leap and take my breath away.  I'm hesitant, allowing the doubts to fragment the enthusiastic bursts of courage. The longer I linger, fear seeping in, the atmosphere changes.  There's a storm cloud above me now, dropping slowly at first.  I feel it welling up within me and then the bottom falls out.  The tears come cantankerously, like hard raindrops, rapidly beating onto the ground.  They are uncontrollable now, despite my efforts to restrain them.  I don't know what is worse, holding them, quaking at my eyelids or letting them flow.  And, undeterred by this cloud, I can see a glow in the air surrounding me.  I know there is light within this tiny sorrow, yet I cannot dismiss the fog.

I am embarking on a journey tomorrow that will change my life in ways I cannot, now, imagine.  I will be alone.  I am leaving all of my family and all of my friends to explore new horizons.  The excitement is overwhelming and frightening and joyous all at once.

Today was full of gloomy showers in my small part of this world and it couldn't have been more fitting for my emotions.  Between the showers, there were small rays of light and then another wave of pelting rain would surround me.

I am doing my best to laugh and imagine what is beyond the sad goodbyes because I know I will be back with the people I already love soon enough.  I am looking forward to the new souls I am sure to meet and hoping that this plunge that is making my insides leap about will be the start of many climbs and leaps in the future.

My life, lately, has been filled with tearful departures and warm hellos.  It gets harder leaving people after losing others for good.  I imagine dreadful scenarios in which certain goodbyes could be my last.  I'm training my mind to acknowledge these thoughts, but tuck them away, knowing that tomorrow could bring any sort of terrible or, better yet, a number of amazing things.  Learning to see the light through the fog is one of the hardest lessons to understand, but most important, I think.  We are all destined for darkness at some point.  Accepting this and using it to our advantage is the only way to fight the sorrow.

So, here I go.  Setting my own example.  I'm not depending on anyone to push me from behind (although, I believe, sometimes, this would be easier).  I'm bracing myself and the fall is becoming more and more real, as goosebumps creep up, through my skin.  I'm spreading my arms, wide, away from my body and then far above my head.  Knees bent, toes tipping from the edge.  I'm leaping.  I'm diving.  I'm anticipating the impact and embracing the flipping in my gut.  So, here I go.

Dressing Room

I think life is very much like the (tumultuous) trials of a dressing room.  We are always slipping into a certain size, feeling inadequate because they never seem to fit perfectly.  Who do they measure these clothes to fit, anyway?  The most comfortable of garments allow some wiggle room; the big sweaters and sweat pants; flowing dresses or t-shirts.

There are no universal truths; just like you will never find an article of clothing specifically tailored to your body without searching out some revision.  We all hold individual truths that we try to fit into categories.  Race or gender or religion.  Right or wrong.  We look to one another for approval, when we should be looking within ourselves.  There is no 'one size fits all' in this life.

I think we forget this too often.  We run with the herd, through school and seeking out careers.  We don't construct our own realities; we allow them to be built up in front of us, without questioning whether or not they make us personally happy.  We take the easy way out, instead of sewing our own size or taking a different path.

How do you find your happiness?  What about society's structure makes you want to be a part of it?  What makes us try so relentlessly to fit?

When I Grow Up . . .

After my first trip to Sea World in elementary school, I decided that I was going to swim with dolphins when I grew up.  Yes, it was that simple.  My father informed me (after my excited declaration) that I would become a marine biologist.

From second grade on, I believed that one day I would become a marine biologist to swim with dolphins everyday.  I told everyone this.  

I could do nothing but chuckle at my naivety upon discovering the extensive science education required to become a marine biologist.  Even in elementary school, science and math were not my favorite subjects.  

After that, I lost all direction.  When choosing a major, my decision was based on my mother's insisting I was a good writer.  I figured, 'What the heck, I enjoy it; may as well be a journalist.'

Today, when I think about what I truly wanted to do when I grew up as a child, I imagine myself exploring.  I remember flipping through my grandfather's National Geographic magazines wishing I could be inside the pictures.  In high school, when I would drive to school, I would imagine just passing right by and driving as far as my gas tank would allow.  Just to see someplace new.  

I would imagine myself in a motel room, crouched below a desk lamp, scribbling in a notebook and listening to waves crash outside the window.  I was writing a novel.  The lamp was always green.