(Note: I’ve had this blog space for, like, two years, but have yet to publish anything in it. A few weeks back, I had a conversation with a forever-friend who asked if I still wrote, and I mentioned this space and its emptiness and suddenly decided to commit to using February’s Virgo Full Moon to finally put something here and then put it out. Imagine my surprise to find that I’d already written a first post, utterly forgotten, and it’s still completely relevant. So with a few minor tweaks, here it is— thanks to Sarah DeRubis for the inspiration and affirmation. Mad love for you!)
I never hold my breath when I jump. I let it all out, usually with a hearty “Whoop!” Sometimes this creates a problem, as when jumping off of rocks into a river in Jamaica a couple years back. Taking a breath in and holding it might have been a wiser choice, since it took a few kicks to get back up to the surface. But I can’t help it– those few seconds of not standing on this Earth, of being a free thing in the air, are so exhilarating and unsettling at the same time that I am compelled to use my voice to acknowledge that fleeting difference from regular life.
So maybe that’s what this is, here. Something in my inner world has shifted in the past few years. Several somethings. Actually, I feel huge tectonic differences in my connections to myself and the world. Part of it is the ending of certain cycles and conditions: a successful second career, the breaking of old patterns in relational processes, financial stability (finally!), embracing intuition and witchery and living a much more magical life, finally deciding that parenthood is not my path (at least in the traditional sense; mothering still seems to be one of my instinctive functions), and being settled in a home that I adore in a city that I love have rearranged the plates of my lithosphere in a way that makes me feel like I’m on more stable ground than I ever have been in my adult life. And this is so, so good.
And also a little challenging. Because now I have to let things in. While I was unsettled and unsure and all the time scrambling to get and keep the basics of life together, it was easy to ignore all the other noise (most of the time). It was also easy to allow imposter syndrome and insecurity and anxiety to keep my mouth closed, even when my head and my heart were overflowing with things that needed to be said and explored and revised and said again. The inner monologue went something like this:
“Who am I to tell anyone anything? It’s none of my business, really, and my opinion is only relevant to me, and what do I know, anyway? I have no business speaking for other people or groups. Nobody needs or wants my two cents. Social media isn’t the right platform for tough conversations. Work isn’t the right venue for tough conversations. I am ineffective at having tough conversations.” That was the loud voice.
But the whispers underneath: “people will be offended. people will be angry. conflict is bad and must be avoided. you’ll say it wrong and make it worse. you don’t really know what you’re talking about. shhhhhhh.” Those little voices have so much more power, because they chip away at the things that make us Ourselves. They crumble foundations and amplify fear. They leash tongues and lock up hearts and chain minds. They make us accept unacceptable conditions. They froze the part of me that calls out injustice and harm and bad behavior, that questions out loud the status quo, that got me in trouble with authority in school and at work, that made me an advocate and an ally. So I stayed pretty static, not a lot coming in, and even less going out.
And then the whole fucking world went crazy.
I know it’s been crazy. I know it’s been headed toward full-blown madness for quite some time. I’ve known a lot of things– those things I didn’t want to talk about, because how? When?? HOW??? Pre-pandemic, pre-Breonna and George and Elijah (and far too many more), pre-Q, pre-insurrection, I told myself that it was the same amount of crazy it’s always been, and just seemed more intense because of <insert vague platitudes and banalities here>. I told myself to stop being so melodramatic. I told myself that anything I say will just echo into the chamber in which I choose to exist. But we’re so far past “waiting it out”. The arc of the pendulum has grown too wide. And conditions have drastically changed, in many realms; the time for reimagining and restructuring is right the fuck now. And I want to be here for it, and be useful, and be of service.
I’ve been collecting information and synthesizing theories and connecting stories in my head for such a long time. I talk to a few people openly, but in a safe way; I know they generally agree with me and love me enough to keep liking me even if they don’t like what I say. But I’ve been afraid of futility, and of finding that I don’t “have it” anymore when it comes to speaking and writing. I’m declaring that Over Now. Even if I’m the only one who ever reads anything here, I know that it will inform my interactions, and push me into new research and knowledge and experience. Metacognition is the foundation of personal evolution. It’s worth it.
So here I am, ready to journey, and now I see so many paths. It has taken this long to find the balance I’ve needed; I don’t want to be in trouble, and I don’t want to alienate people that I like (or that I need to get along with to get something done). But I do want to be an ally, and I do want to be an advocate for those who need one, and I’ve received so many signs lately that my head and my heart and my mouth are FINALLY working in better concert. I’ve had some of those tough conversations, and they haven’t ruined anything. I’ve put some information out there that has been met with surprise, maybe a little resistance or misunderstanding, but not the hostility that I kind of expected from some people. I have partners and teachers and spiritual support that I didn’t have before. I’ve witnessed so many others demonstrate the courage and confidence and rational, reasonable discourse that I’ve tried so hard to foster, and I am ready to add my voice. More than anything, I’m eager to boost the signal of certain messages that have been out there but not seen or heard by enough people for a long, long time.
I’m ready to jump.
The Stars, the Salt, and Me 