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.

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.