Growing the "F" Up.

Clearly this is a cliche.  But I dig those, because, usually they're cliche's because they're true.  Sorta like stereotypes, but not as racist.  (Side note: I do not consider myself racist.  Quite progressive, actually.  But stereotypes exist because truth gets exaggerated.  Read a book.  God.)

But I digress.

I've been thinking quite a bit about impermanence lately, and this idea that life is constantly changing, things are always in transition and the fact of the matter is of my (and yours!) nature to grow old, to get sick, to die and to die alone.

Bleak, ain't it?  But it's the truth and nothing reminds me of that more than Colorado in the Spring (or winter, or fall, or summer for that matter).  Sunday was a beautiful day.  Monday, we enjoyed a high of 69 and news of a Blizzard warning.  While Tuesday did not bring the blizzard we were promised (um, Thank GOD) it did snow, get pretty icy and had a high of 25.  It's been chilly ever since.

And I'm over it.  I'm over tights. I'm over sweaters.  I'm over sweater dresses with tights (which some of you know is partly because I will NOT purchase new ones and all of my tights proudly sport holes on my bum).  And I'm over boots.  I want spring!! I want to see the first buds on trees, and get excited that every day the world looks a more vibrant shade of green.  I want shorts and flip flops and a reason to actually get a pedicure and to have to shave my legs and arm pits daily.  I want cute dresses, damn it, AND the hope, expectation, and feeling of endless possibility that Spring brings.  I want Winter to be OVER!

And aren't we like that? Fuck you if you aren't, because I am.  I am consistently wanting to get to the NEXT thing, the NEXT vacation, the NEXT boyfriend, the NEXT NEXT NEXT...unless I'm attempting to return to the LAST thing, the LAST weekend of college, the LAST time I saw what's his face, the LAST time I...whatever.  I can go through old pictures and letters and relieve entire eras in my head, or I can fantasize and worry and create entire miniseries of future happenings in my head.  What I have a much more difficult time doing, however, is being still.  I am constantly wanting the winters of my life to be over, and constantly nearly pee my pants anxious for the springs to start.  And usually, this all happens at the same time.

We I are am an impossible beings.

And I'm going to blame all of this on the seemingly complex, impossibly simple notion of impermanence.

During the last winter of my life, I was 28, living with parents--single after I pretty much told God that I had met the man I was going to marry and gripped my little fist over that one particular outcome so tight that Universe nearly needed to cut my arm off to save me (at least that's what it felt like).  And I was miserable learning the lessons.  I was tired of the ups and downs, continuous motion and the rapid shifts in e-motion that grieving brings.  I was HEART BROKEN.  And I wanted it to STOP.  And I didn't deserve ANY of this, couldn't you see that?? I was the perfectly innocent victim that did not understand how I could orchestrate every detail of a life that fell apart.  Sure, I couldn't tell you one detail about him in particular that I missed.  Sure, I didn't necessarily want HIM back as much as I needed him to want ME back.  Sure, I ignored every sign that God, my body and my spirit gave me that this was NOT WORKING.  Still, I did NOTHING to deserve this pain.  And why was it lasting SO LONG?!  It had been three months for God's sake.  (insert sarcasm font here). At least this is what I was telling my therapist one particular Wednesday morning in July.

Right before she asked me if I wanted her to tell me what she thought or "massage you through it?"

And I replied..."Well, I'm not really paying you for me to work so hard." (Best. Client. Ever.).

To which she responded, "Jasmine.  You need to grow the fuck up."

Which quite honestly, I didn't get.  I mean, how much more grown up is your life FALLING APART?!  But I digress, because I must preface this by saying that I have been seeing Gayle every other week since I was 24 years old.  SHE KNOWS ME, and she knows what I need and I love her for it.  Some of my therapist friends are gasping right now thinking that a good therapist would NEVER say that OUT LOUD to a client.  And the people who know me, know me, like FOR REAL know me, are laughing their asses off.

Because she was right.  100 percent right.  And since I chose the option that didn't allow her to "massage me through it," we were able to process this.  We were able to discuss the truth that no one gets to escape pain.  Everyone has a winter, and if you're lucky, blessed and on the path of vulnerability, courage, realness or just human, you have multiple winters.  And you embrace this like the fucking spiritual warrior you are.  At least that's what I tell myself.  Because I can't control the weather, I can't control my feelings, I can't control my thoughts and I can't control others.  But I can control whether (see what I did there?) I open up to these dynamic shifts of humanness.  I can control if I let my pain define me, close me up to more winters, kill the vibrancy that comes with being a vital, mature, grown up human being who gets to feel EVERY emotion other human beings feel, or if I do my damnedest to lean into the pain, let it teach me what it will and let it join me on my journey as a companion during the next one.

And I choose, and consistently re-choose because I forgot, and re-choose again because I'm tired, and re-choose some more because I'm imperfect, the latter.  I choose to be a spiritual warrior and not only wake up to, but embrace the fact that, as Pema Chodron beautifully writes, "Life's energy is never static.  It's as shifting, fluid, changing as the weather.  Sometimes we like how we're feeling, sometimes we don't.  Then we like it again.  Then we don't.  Happy and sad, comfortable and uncomfortable alternate continually.  This is how it is."

And I'm still tired of this winter, and I'm still excited for spring.

But I'm here.  And I'm present.  And I'm learning.

And clearly...I'm growing the fuck up.

Sabbaticals

Oh. My. God.  I literally forgot that I even had a blog.  I have spent so much time well, living my life, that I have not written in a really long time.  And that makes me sad, because a trend I'm noticing in my life is that my creative juices have, in the past, been only used during times that I am feeling sad.  The last time I wrote anything on this was October 11, 2011--about 5 months into one of the most heart wrenching, life changing, life affirming breakups that I have ever experienced.

And I have endless gratitude in my ability to say right now that I'm on the other side of that.  One of my latest Facebook status updates was my expressing gratitude for being in a place in my life where I find myself thinking, often, many times a day on some days "I'm really happy."

And ain't that an em-effer?? Because the last time I wrote on these pages, I was doing so for survival, for sustenance, and for a less harmful coping skill than endless glasses of whiskey wine.

But I just spent the last hour catching up on a coworker's blog.  And it restored my faith.  And before you think that's a bit melodramatic, let me explain.

But first, I must offer up a virtual bow of thanks to our grand comedian, Universe, for the realization that I am writing again exactly 18 months after my last post.  

Ok, back to it.  I have been in the clinical portion of my Masters since January of 2012.  I started with Practicum that spring semester, took the summer off, and began my internship with the Colorado State Employee Assistance Program, where I have been working since August of 2012.

And the experience has been AMAZING.  Sometime in late September I felt I hit my stride as a professional therapist.  I had that "Holy SHIT, I'm a therapist.  Like a REAL one, and I'm pretty effing good at it!!" feeling.  It was incredible, and continues to be.

But now, five weeks away from the weekend of graduation, my 30th birthday, and no more financial aide checks, I'm EXHAUSTED.  I continue to work at the Eating Recovery Center, and I often work Sunday, Monday and Tuesday (12 hour days!!) there and then work Wednesday, Thursday and Fridays at CSEAP.  And I miss my social life, friends, soul affirming conversations with people other than my clients and patients something terrible.

So, back to the concept of my coworker's blog restoring my faith.  She recently made the courageous decision to take a month long sabbatical at work.  And based on her blog posts, she's happy.  She's nourished, she's taking care of her.  And here I am, on day 5 of a 6 day work week.  My eyes are red, my contacts feel glued to my face and I'm literally so anxious and so wound up that I was pacing my living room to "relax."  (That's in quotes because I have a hard time lately understanding what that looks or feels like).  I was feeling the familiar acidity of envy, thinking of her bright smile, infectious laugh, healthy food and wonderful life, while also planning how I can get my private practice off the ground and beating myself up for not writing a business plan or curriculum for a group or reading some therapy article, when the Universe tapped me on the shoulder and said breathe.  Breathe into it and get to know yourself.  And my faith was restored.  I'm finishing INTERNSHIP.  I'm graduating in FIVE weeks.  I'm working 60 hours a week and in a field I (usually) feel blessed to have been chosen for.

I re-read her post about taking a month long sabbatical.  And I smiled.  For her, and for myself.  It took me 4.5 years to become a therapist and 30 years to reach the level of contentment and overall ME-ness I have felt for the past 9 months.  The last time I raced to the end, to the success that I thought was expected me and played by all the arbitrary rules I set for myself, I ended up depressed, co-dependant and fired from a high paying job.  I ended up burnt out.

And I love therapy too much to do that to myself and my career.

So I want to say thank you to this coworker and thank you to God, because tonight I finally gave myself permission to NOT know what happens in the next five weeks.  I don't know what my private practice looks like.  I don't know what my plans are for after graduation.  I  don't know what I'm doing for my 30th birthday (so stop asking, folks), I don't know the details of my graduation party.

I just DON'T KNOW.  And I'm finally, for the first time since the beginning of the year, ok with that.

The future is still there to be discovered.  And just like when I stopped micro-managing my life 4.5 years ago and just let school, and the knowledge I was exactly where I needed to be carry me, I'm letting the don't know-ness of this moment carry me to the couch.  To relax after a long day (week, month and year) to watch cougar town, and later, to cuddle with a new someone nice (And I DON'T know what we're doing either! So stop asking, folks).

Selah, thank you.

It's TOO HARD!

Spiritual journeying. I've always loved that phrase, been a little obsessed about it. My ego would have you all believe that I am a person who embraces my spiritual callings, that I'm brave enough and faithful enough to view this world as an intense classroom. I SO WISH I was the type of person who would go on ten day silent retreats and get to know the inner workings of my own mind, a person who could meditate for hours on end, and find peace in the faith that God lives in me as me.

Well, I'm not, I'm learning. I'm not that person I so wish I could be. I am thinking all of these things right now because I am re-reading Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I read it for the first time in 2007, when I was dealing with another difficult transition. I got laid off in early January of that year, made my ex responsible for my very happiness (read: acted like a complete lunatic for three months) and he cheated on me. Only in this transition, our not being together was never an option. I needed him in my life much like I imagined I needed things like oxygen and water. Co-dependence much? Absolutely, but it has been part of my journey. I happened across the book when I was aimlessly walking around Target one day and had nothing to do because all of my friends still had jobs. It sounded interesting, and I figured I was in the midst of my own little search for balance and happiness, so I picked it up, not realizing that this book would begin changing my life.

So now, in the midst of yet another transition (SERIOUSLY, do these things ever end? Or at least get easier?) I'm re-reading it. For a number of reasons, the biggest of which being that my therapist suggested it. Almost two years ago, I enrolled in a class called Spiritual Foundations of Counseling, where we discussed spirituality and how to incorporate our client's spiritual selves into the counseling environment. In this class, I first encountered an amazing little idea called transpersonal psychology. I asked my therapist if she knew anyone whom I could see for this type of work and because the Universe is faithful and things really DO seem to happen for a reason, she informed me that she specialized in this type of therapy. I guess you could say this particular journey started there. And I say journey here because I DO believe that I am on one, it's just not nearly as neat as I thought it would be, but we will get back to that later.

Right now I want to tell you what happened when I asked my therapist about transpersonal psychology and she informed me that this is the very work that made her want to be a therapist. When we started this work, she said the most curious thing, something I still don't completely believe and something I am just beginning to understand. My therapist told me, "Jasmine, I can promise you that you are strong enough to do this type of work, but I can't guarantee the same thing as your relationship." At the time, I brushed this comment aside. Of COURSE me and my ex would make it through this. We HAD to be together. I had left no room in my heart for any other option.

But oh, what a difference a year makes, yes?? Because almost exactly a year after that, I made the decision to leave my relationship. I guess that was the first taste that this work really does begin to change you, that little by little, bit by bit, your ego HAS to break down in order for transformation to happen. Not that I know anything about transformation as most days, I'm attempting to simply keep my head above water. But this year has taught me that there is something bigger than my ego. Every once in awhile I'm able to see and have faith in something bigger than my broken heart, than my feelings of abandonment and shame. I can see this because I have witnessed my ego loosen its grip on my relationship being the most important defining factor in my life. I can finally see a life and happiness outside of my ex, a life that does not include him. But here I am getting ahead of myself again.

The point of this whole story is that a couple of months after we began the transpersonal work, I referenced the book Eat Pray Love, which my therapist and I have talked often about. She told me it was an important book about transition, and I agreed. She asked me to tell her where I thought my life was, compared to Gilbert's book. I told her that maybe my life was currently in the "India" stage of Gilbert's story, the part of the book where Liz is in India, meditating for hours a day, finding her spiritual truths. (Before you laugh too hard at me here, keep in mind I was enrolled in the spirituality. My assignments called me to be all spiritual and stuff, and gave me false hope into my "deeper spiritual self.")

My therapist looked at me after I said that statement, with more kindness than I can convey in this blog, and said, "Oh, honey. You're still on the bathroom floor." And for those of you who have read Gilbert's book, you know this is the exact spot in which she began her journey. I was paying my dear therapist to tell me, "Honey you ain't seen NOTHING yet."

And boy was she right. Because something is telling me I'm STILL on the bathroom floor. 18 months of searching, which included taking space from friends, my parents, breaking up with my partner, changing jobs, changing living situations...twice, all of this and I am still at the beginning.

And this is why I began re-reading this book. Because I take comfort that Liz Gilbert's important memoir is the quintessential definition of a journey. That woman went through some SHIT. And maybe this is the perfect example of the saying, "Misery loves company," but it comforts me to know that book was finished nearly four years after she found herself sobbing hysterically on the floor of her bathroom, begging God to tell her what to do.

And when I think too hard or too long about this very overwhelming thought, the fact that I have just started this journey, when I catch myself in those moments where big 'ole scary FEAR is helping me write stories of the future that have not yet happened and making them scarier than the devil himself, it's enough to make me want to check out. I get substance abuse now, I get cutters and suicide attempts and the dear patients with whom I work. I GET IT. Because when fear shows up and telling me he's staying for a few days, this journey simply becomes too hard. It becomes too overwhelming to believe that I will carry this sadness, loneliness, fear, despair and self loathing like a back packer with no mountain to climb. In these moments of fear, this work is too hard, it's too much and I want to run back to that girl I was 18 months ago, perfectly content in a relationship where my needs weren't getting met, with parents I was too afraid to become independent of, with friendships that no longer served me.

And before you all think, "Well why the hell does this girl want to be a therapist??" Let me assure you that just as I get these overwhelming waves of ego-tantrums, telling me there is no more point in doing this work, I also get breathtaking moments of contentment, of trust that I am already who I want to be. I get brief glimpses of a me that is so full of self-love and faith that I beg God, "LET ME STAY HERE!! Let me continue to understand these truths." But just as water pours out of your fingers the moment you try to grip it, these moments disappear the moment I grasp, and hold on to them as the source of my happiness. When I began grasping for dear life for me to stay in this moment forever, FEAR returns and knocks me back on my ass.

And this is what I mean when I say that this journey is not nearly as neat, or as easy, as I initially believed. It's like one of those creepy spiral stair cases found in Dr. Seuss books. It turns over and over around itself until I get so lost in the labyrinth of change that I don't know which way is up. My transpersonal journey is difficult, much harder than I thought it would be. But I'm blessed by my brief moments of contentment, even when I can't access them for weeks at a time. Because they are reminders. That life is messy, that I'm a mess and that perfection is a figment of our imaginations. Or perhaps, the us we have yet to meet.

Hey, I'm Open!!

But not THAT open, I'm realizing. I was recently pursued by a man in an open relationship. And initially I was flattered. We did the whole flirting thing for a few weeks. He told my friends how much he liked me. He texted me every day, HE pursued ME. But he had this girlfriend. And not the normal, "this guy has a girlfriend" situation. No, he wasn't "over" his girlfriend. He wasn't some guy hesitant to leave a bad situation. He wasn't seeking me out for comfort (not that this is the type of thing that rocks my boat, but attention from an attractive, smart man IS flattering, relationship or no relationship...right??) No, he was openly and admittedly in love with this woman. But they had conflicting schedules and decided that it was ok that they see other people.

I know...if you're anything like me, you're wondering how this works. Or, you're saying "oh, he's just looking for sex." Whatever you're thinking that's ok. I know some of you would have run in the opposite direction and I respect that. But I considered it. And before you judge me for this, realize that I'm in the middle of a break up. I get lonely. I don't want nor am I ready for any attachment (and this was made PAINFULLY obvious when I broke things off with the rebound guy and got ambushed by feelings neither of us were ready for), so something casual seemed nice...a way to have male attention without any of that yucky emotional attachment (ok, ok, so this is a LITTLE idealistic)...it sounded nice. For about ten seconds, until one of my Blonde Besties essentially asked, "Are you FUCKING CRAZY?!" And did the job that only a close friend could do, forcing me examine why it is that I was thinking so little of myself that I was actually CONSIDERING getting involved with a guy who was basically offering me complete emotional unavailability, and not only that, but a second place spot in his heart.

Yes, I'm fucking crazy. Because I'm ADDICTED to unavailable men. In short, they hurt me soooo good and I simply can't get enough. And the reasons for this are far too sad, boring and cliche to get into now. Just know that this realization has been following me around all year long, kicking me in the face repeatedly. You'd think that after multiple black eyes, a bruised ego and a broken down spirit, I would just let go. Give up. Learn to be on my own.

But just as-- thankfully--I couldn't open myself to being second place, I'm not yet ready to open myself to up to the relationship I tried so desperately hard for when I was with my ex. I'm not ready to be that intimate with someone, but I'm also terrified of being alone, which makes it impossible for me to get truly intimate with the person I need to get to know...MYSELF. I'm in this disgusting limbo, middle ground where I'm the only person blocking my path. I want to be dating and even think it would be exciting to meet a man that inspires me. But thinking of what I feel I would have to give up for that type of relationship is enough to make me agoraphobic. I want to be strong enough to say "Yes, I'm single right now, and it's going to take someone pretty amazing to change that." But 8pm shows up every night and brings my two biggest adversaries: loneliness and self-loathing, and you know what I'm learning?? I'm not as open and healthy about dealing with them. I never just open myself to inviting them in and letting them question me. No, I hide from them. I hide in bars with my friends even when I don't want to be out. I hide in novels I'm not enjoying reading, bad tv, my ex, sleep and a host of things that are no longer serving me.

So no, I'm not as open as I thought. But I'm trying. I'm really trying.

Suggestions??

Sitting in it

Perhaps one of the greatest lesson I've been called to learn during this period of transition is that I have to sit in anxiety, just like everyone else. That bad feelings, sadness, fear, pain and negativity are part of the kaleidoscope of human experience. That to expect to feel good and happy every day makes me a child and a coward. Sure, I give advice to my friends and clients about how to "just sit in it" and "let this experience of pain carry you." I even post facebook posts describing exactly what "sitting in it means," and have the nerve to explain how to be present and how to let pain carry you.

But I have a secret and here it is: I am so good at telling people how to sit in pain, how to manage anxiety and how to stay in the moment, but I have (had?) absolutely no ability to do this on my own. When things went wrong in my relationship, I begged him, manipulated him, chased him and pretty much did anything to make that anxiety go away. I needed him to change who he was, how he felt, how he responded to stress because my anxiety would get so high, my fear of him leaving would become so all-consuming, that I needed him to do whatever was necessary to bring that feeling down. And that's the key: HE had to change to manage MY anxiety. Because I had no ability to do it on my own.

If I own anything in the breakdown of our relationship, it is this. I became so attached to the particular outcome of us being together, that anything that showed that it may be otherwise, threatened my sense of security. Threatened my entire sense of understanding of how this world is supposed to work. I had no ability to see past the story I had built in my mind. The one that cast him as husband and father. And if he were to be all of those things, he needed to act in a certain way to show me that he COULD be all of those things. He needed to balance a check book and check in with me when he went somewhere. He needed to play the part I created for him and if he did not, my anxiety got too high. I got too sad. I felt let down.

Two weeks after I left, I sat in my therapists office, sobbing. I kept saying, "I don't know what to do." Because I didn't. I had used all of my brain power attempting to devise a plan in which he played the role I created for him perfectly. I was out of schemes, I was through with plotting and I was completely depleted from what, at the time, I thought was giving too much. And I did give a lot. A lot of energy, a lot of tears, a lot of time into trying to make him the person I so desperately needed him to be.

And perhaps this is the lesson that I was meant to learn. Maybe this is why I dedicated a little over five years to my life to this relationship, and maybe, perhaps, this is why it seemingly unraveled in about eight weeks time. Life is full of pain, and disappointment. And in order to get through it, you have to die to your ego, to yourself every day. That human emotion, including the gut-wrenching painful emotions, are necessary parts of human experience and I wouldn't be human without the experience of emotional terror, anxiety and depression. Maybe he was brought into my life to teach me how to be a better person, a better partner, a better therapist, because without this knowledge, I would not be very good at any of the roles I play in my life.

Maybe this all happened so that I learned that the only plot I can control is my reaction to the reality of daily deaths. That I can lose my attachment to particular outcomes and live in the moment. That the only two constants I will ever be afforded in this life is that life IS change, and one day, we will all die. Maybe I had to get so attached to him so that I can experience that pain of loss. So that I can be reminded, probably not for the first time, that permanence does not exist. That forcing him to be the person I so perfectly planned, or forcing anyone to be anything, cannot provide me with a sense of security. The only security I have is knowing that I will be here for as long as I am conscious, and that life is forever, forever ephemeral. Constantly changing, and in that change lives pain, and sorrow and grief.

And, God, have I learned this lesson. It's ironic how I spent the vast majority of my relationship protecting myself from fear, from the perceived threat of his leaving, and in the end, it was me who left. I left physically, I left emotionally and in the end, I threw in the towel. I did so much, some that I feel may be normal, some that I am quite ashamed of myself for, to ensure that he would be with me forever, that I could get a guarantee and a protection from his leaving. I fought so hard for this guarantee, that I was depleted, exhausted and had no desire to fight for anything that included him. Not our relationship or our future. I lost the attachment to forever. I finally realized that it didn't exist. Not in him, not in our relationship, not anywhere. And now, it seems that everything is exactly how it should be.

When I become anxious these days, I attempt to make a map of it, to learn my way around it. To have compassion for myself. I have learned pain and anxiety can be a private event, one I don't have to engulf my loved ones in. One I don't have to control to feel better. I have learned that during those moments, I don't have to DO anything. I can just be where I am, and experience compassion and love for myself. I can feel anxious and pray, or watch tv, or bury my fears in a six hour long marathon of Sex and the City. The point is, I have learned to sit in it. To let my anxiety engulf me, and I will forever be thankful to him for this lesson. By refusing to meet me in that space, by not allowing me to manipulate him into making the bad feelings disappear, he has aided me in becoming a better person, a more faithful person. My relationship, more than anything else in my life thus far, has taught me the valuable lesson that life is constantly changing. That the only guarantee I have is in my own faith in the Universe, in the fact that I have to be my own best friend and in the truth that attachment to any one particular outcome always ends badly. I have learned to observe myself with love and in that way, I have been lucky enough to learn more than most.

Selah, dear love, thank you.

All we need is love?

I have been humbled every day by the response I have gotten from my friends and family as I go through this intense period of transition. I keep getting slapped in the face with the message: PEOPLE LOVE ME!!! There are so many people in this world who care about me and I am so grateful for their grace right now. I have had people drive miles to give me a hug if they hear me crying, people offer me their house so I can get some much needed alone time while they are out of town, people understand when I tell them I can't attend their weddings or be as active in the planning as I would like, I have had friends let me stay with them in a one room apartment for 17 days IN A ROW, I've had women pack my house when I couldn't do it myself and hold my hand while I cried at my sink, grieving over my broken dream. And these are just my FRIENDS. My family has been graceful as well, giving me space, a place to live, a listening ear and arranging for people to move me out of my house. Compassion is truly a blessing and I see God in the people that love me, every day.

I've been reading the book Uncoupling, by Diane Vaughan. In it, she says, "People do not make voluntary transition alone." And I find this to be so true. She says that when leaving a relationship we find "transitional people" to help us. These people help by being confidante's, by giving advice, by working as a sounding boards, by loving me.

This post is my love letter to all of my transitional people. Some people may be temporary, but most, I believe are long standing, constant forces in my life. I believe that if you're lucky, you find many, many soul mates in this life. People who are brought to you to help you through this journey, people who love you in ways you can't get fulfilled by anything else and all of you have been my soul mates. Some are new friends, people I've known for two or less years. Some have been friends since we were 12, wearing funny hats. One has been my soul sister, from another mister (and mother for that matter) whose life parallels mine in an intense and sometimes, freaky, manner. I love you all more than I can put into words. I'm grateful for you and I can write a novel and still not be able to express my gratitude in words.

Know this: I see God in you and all of you have been a gift. One of my biggest sources of anxiety entering this period of transition has been the fear that I would never find love. That I gave it all away, but all of you have wrapped me in a love and a grace so pure, so full and so amazing, that I can only laugh at myself. The Universe has a hell of a sense of humor...I see love all around me. I'm covered in it in a way I have never experienced before.

Selah, thank you.

Where is my parachute?

I have always been deeply impressed and in awe of people who go sky diving. It's not that I don't understand it. I get it...that incredible exhilaration one must feel when you finally reach the ground. Or, that feeling of complete freedom people describe when they finally let go and just enjoy the ride. What I don't understand, however, is that moment of complete terror and panic I would have to feel as I stood at the ledge, too high up to see the ground, completely frozen in fear of the fact that I am about to jump out of a plane.

I've realized recently that I'm a person who lives her life avoiding these moments of terror. I'm a professional fear avoider, if you will.

I plan to deal with being afraid. I realize that to some this makes me a control freak. I prefer to call it "knowing what I want." But, whatever the semantics, it makes me live my life in a constant state of intense awareness of the future, learning from the past and completely avoiding what's going on in the present. And when the present is riddled with pain and discomfort, rather than sitting with it, I plan on how to rid myself of it, and then, how to avoid feeling this way again. This little habit of mine, often shows itself in manipulation, in controlling tactics. I have to get people, things, the world, God, whatever--to do what I want so that fear can JUST GO AWAY.

Not the cutest trait, trust me.

And this brings me back to what makes sky diving so impressive. For the first time, I GET IT. The accomplishment in sky diving is the jump. It's standing on that ledge, terrified, and JUMPING ANYWAY. It's having the faith that your parachute will open, that you will make it down and that you will be better than you were before the jump.

And this is what makes this current period of transition so incredibly scary for me. Because right now, I'm filled with pain. I'm standing on that ledge, about to jump out of the plane and I have no choice but to take that leap. I have no choice because I have literally exhausted every option. I have planned, I have manipulated, bargained and cajoled and I still find myself, 13,000 feet in the air, literally facing my biggest fear. I have to embrace this pain, and let it have its way with me. Wave after wave, coursing through my life and my consciousness until I've learned the lessons and grown into the woman God will have me to become.

And the problem, is that I don't WANT to jump. I have had many, many friends tell me that they're proud of me, that I'm strong, and I often look at them, confused. I appreciate the compliment, but I don't feel very brave. I don't feel very strong. I am ONLY jumping right now because I've already tried everything else. If I could figure out a way to make it work, I would return to the same situation that has led me here. Is there pain in the past? Of course. But THAT pain I know. THAT pain I've become comfortable with.

And I have a parachute I don't have much experience in. I have to wrap myself in a parachute of faith and trust that it will work on my ride down. I have to do the thing I am not yet good at doing, and that's to stop planning. To let go and feel myself coast, to embrace the freedom in not being in control and letting God take the reigns for awhile. It's hard because so far all I've known of this experience is pain. All I've felt is fear. I have to trust that the God who lives in me AS me, will show up for me.

And all I can say is, this parachute BETTER effing work. God, wrap me in your faithfulness.