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| Grow by Aororak |
Over the past year, I have experienced more major life
changes than during any other single year of my life. Some of these changes are
so new and raw, I am not yet ready to share them with any but my most intimate
circle. These changes are tender new shoots, barely peeking out of the soil, so
delicate and fragile that it’s hard not to hover over them, monitoring them
constantly. Are they still there? Are they okay? Did they get bigger? Change
color or shape? Do they need more water, or sunlight, or better soil for their
roots to grow? Are they going to survive this tenuous time, so vulnerable and
small? The fear that change brings up has been a barrier in the past, a reason
not to reach toward my dreams quite so fervently. Perhaps if I keep one foot,
or even half my body in the old reality, it won’t hurt so much if these new
buds don’t flower. Then, if a deer eats them when they’re only a few inches
tall, or an unexpected late frost kills their roots, I won’t have to be so sad,
because I can just go back to the way things were before they ever existed.
Although this deadening of the spirit may create some degree of distance from
my pain, the cost is alienation from all emotions. In this way, my joy is also
diminished, my hopes mitigated and small, my dreams tiny “safe” fragments of
their true selves. And, it turns out, these “safe” pieces aren’t really all
that safe after all. Losing the fragments hurts too, in a different way. Then I
feel the ache of never having given my true dream a chance to live, while
simultaneously mourning the loss of the fragment into which I’d half-heartedly
invested myself. And so I decided to be all in, unleashing a whole new level of
fear and anxiety.
Through the highs and lows of being fully committed to my dreams,
I am acutely aware of the unpredictable, uncontrollable, uncertain nature of
life. This year I have traced the trajectory of change through its many seasons
–dreams and fantasies, births and new life, periods of growth and development,
and transitions and deaths. As a person who craves control, and has spent many
years harboring fantasies of a superhuman ability to actually achieve that control,
this has been a rollercoaster ride. Accepting these facts – that life is
change, and change is inherently unknowable – means confronting the deep
feeling of fear and lack of safety at the center of my being. In reality, this
fear isn’t about any particular change. It’s about feeling inadequate, doubting
my ability to protect myself, unsure if I’m strong enough to survive the
vulnerability of the unknown.
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| Image by Proggie |
As I’ve become more familiar with the anatomy of change, and
its accompanying anxieties, the only antidote I have found is to witness and
accept it. When I am in this state of fear, which is often a daily occurrence
at the moment, I visualize my anxiety as a wet, shaking Chihuahua, barking incessantly,
hair standing on end. This tiny creature is scared and vulnerable, and in
attack mode. Ze is so mixed up that sometimes ze doesn’t even know that ze is
scared, because ze only feels anger and defensiveness. But underneath that
high-pitched bark is a deep fear, and a real vulnerability. Being the tiniest
of dogs in a world of giants, lacking the usual doggy defenses, ze is
understandably afraid. So I imagine scooping zem up in my arms and holding that
trembling body, feeling the rapid heartbeat pounding against my chest. Just
holding zem with sturdy arms, breathing deeply to slow zir heart rate, and
speaking to zem gently and compassionately.
I, too, am tiny and fragile. I’m in new territory,
wholeheartedly pursuing my dreams, all in. I, too, need to be held and seen,
and spoken to with calm understanding. This simple act of picking up my
shivering, defensive self and offering comfort and support is a powerful salve
for sometimes overwhelming anxiety. And learning these skills is crucial,
because this is where I plan to spend my life – in a state of transformation,
re-evaluation, challenge, and change. Because this is where I grow the most,
learn the most, and the place from which I can taste true liberation. Because
freedom is not feeling safe, but rather feeling capable. It is not to be
problem-free but to be a problem solver. Freedom means accepting that life is
change, change is constant, I am never in control, and trying to be only limits
my potential. Freedom means journeying to the edges of my capacity and
stretching out over the chasm, learning from my mistakes and successes in turn.
It means celebrating the process rather than the results, and shining my light
on these new shoots with humble affection, feeling the fear and joy, marveling
at the potential power of these baby plants, and being fully committed to the
ups and downs of following my deepest yearnings wherever they lead.
