The Forty-Eight Year Journey

It’s funny how “change” occurs.  Oftentimes it seems like it happens very quickly.  All of a sudden, things just fall into our lap, we stumble through an innocuous step that changes the whole course of our life.  It just happened,

out of the blue.  But did it really?  What if we put a slow motion speed setting to that process and watched it on film?  Like those of a hummingbird frenetically zooming about the garden resembling a spaceship; one moment right in front of your face, in less than a blink of an eye it’s across the yard snorting up catnip flowers.  When that movement is slowed down and captured we can see those little wings beating so hard, the tiny straining muscles; we can imagine a tiny drop of sweat beading up on his miniscule forehead as he struggles to keep himself aloft. 

It is critical to slow down our own process as well, see it for what it is and most importantly, what we really did that resulted in that “sudden” change.  Nothing just happens.  It’s a bucket.  Every day you go by it on your way to your real

day to day life of work and kids and family and errands and bills and drama and busywork.  But you may be able to add a drop to the bucket on your way out; maybe two at the end of the day, or middle of the night.  Maybe there’s a day when a whole cup flows into it.  Usually it’s not in the forefront, this little reservoir you’re almost unconsciously filling.  But then one day – one fateful day – you put in a little drop and the whole bucket spills over.  It reached its tipping point.  And now it’s spilled over and you’re walking in it knee deep, it’s everywhere.  It has to be

dealt with.  It can’t be ignored any more.  Now there is more over “here” than the “there” of your familiar day to day life.  “Someday” is here.  It just got moved up to the forefront and it just got real.

How did that happen?  All of a sudden the stars seemed to align and things just happened; the scales tipped over and you’re on the other side.  But it didn’t just happen out of the blue.  You built that.  Drop by drop, each drop as essential as the one before, the one to come.  They add up.  They join together to build a river that will sweep you away.
 
And now here you are.  Giddy, amazed, still scared to let go of that rock that

tethers you to the shore, but knowing you are going to.  It’s like being in line for that terrifying crazy roller coaster ride at the fair with your friends.  You’re all laughing too loud at stupid things.  Flexing bravado at fear.  You know it’s inevitable, you’re going to end up with your butt in that front seat; there is no turning back.  You’re scared, but you know you chose this; you paid for your ticket, got in line.  You created this fear and you’re going to engage it.  It will be fun you tell yourself. 

And it is.  You survive and you and your friends crow to one another.  Look what we have done.

There is a random flier in your mailbox at work, a commercial on late-night television, and you follow it and your life changes forever.  You have kids.  They leave, they come back.  You divorce.  Your husband dies.  You’re alone.  You come together again.  You struggle for money, for survival.  You do what you need to do.  You do survive.  Your survival means your entrapment.  You finally see the trap, too late.  You’re ensnared.  But something deep inside, something not

allowed into consciousness yet – it’s not safe there – quietly begins to collect those drops of water.  Those non-threatening drops that don’t mean anything by themselves.  Not really.  You surreptitiously add them one by one to that bucket by the front door. 

And now it’s overflowed.  You’re in it.  You did that.  There is no going back.  They can’t be put back in that bucket again.  It’s too late.  So you find meaning.  This must mean I’m now ready.  This must mean I finally have the fortitude, the resources I need to embark.  That’s ok.  Fine.  Whatever you need to tell yourself, whatever works.  But move baby. 

 
You need to ride that roller coaster to wherever it goes.  You bought your ticket, paid the price, waited your turn.  Step up, step in and thrill to the ride.  Get ready to scream in terror and delight.  Look at that first plunge up ahead already that will turn you on your head.  You have a moment of wanting to get off, to escape, maybe many moments; you know you’re going to be sick.  But it’s too late.  You’re here now, strapped in.  You set yourself up.  There are others around you, shouting at the fear, bring it on, some are cowering in their seats with their eyes closed.  But they’re all doing it.  They’re all on this ride with you.  You are a part of your own creation.  You may not be in charge now of the Frankenstein monster you’ve created and incubated all these long years.  So be it.
Enjoy the ride baby.  Enjoy the ride.

To my dearest friend Violet.  I believe in you.