This time last year, I was picking up the pieces. 

I had no idea the ways in which the next few months would shatter me completely. There's never a way to know.

So I went day-by-day, tripping along and acting like everything was fine when really I was a blubbering mess on the inside. Fall has this way of waning into winter—a slow death of warmth, life, light. Last year I felt lumped in with the batch. I was falling head first into my own winter and I couldn't help thinking of the poem —

...and they, since they 
were not the dead, turned to their affairs.

I kept living because every thing was moving on without me. 

And we've all heard the metaphor before—how out of death springs life—but we never really talk about the pain involved.  

Because here's the truth: I found my yes through months of hell no.  

By the time the end of the year was near, I was ready to jump. Ready to fling off all those dead scaly pieces and risk.

I haven't stopped since. 

It's been almost a year of living within intuition and feeling. It's been months of wading through hurt and laughing at the timing of it all. 

Life really does move on, you know.  


I have this habit of sitting on a thought for a long while. I think part of it is my disdain for decision making, but another huge part is fear.  And back in March, I knew the next step for Story Sessions. I knew it in my bones when every session grew larger and larger and our Facebook page grew heavier and heavier with words.

But I waited. 

A few weeks ago, I sat with my mentor, my fairy-art-mother who is able to look at me with a smile on her face and tell me the truth. 

You gotta start declaring yourself, she said. And I laughed, because all my life I've been trying to state my case in whispers. 


Following your gut takes courage. Much like this post, it wanders and meanders its way to a fixed point.  

And when I pulled out a word for the day this morning, willing stared back at me from the sheet of paper.

Am I willing?
Am I willing to feel all of it in order to feel the good?
Am I willing to celebrate?
Am I wiling to take that step I know I need? 
Am I willing to let those sharp pieces grow soft? 


It's day 6 of my 100 days of brave. 

I stare at the calendar in front of me, the hopes and dreams I've penciled in for these next 31 spaces, and I'm amazed at how much has changed within the past year—the past few months, even.

I wonder if maybe you struggle with finding your place—if maybe willing would be a word that makes you shake a bit because of how others have controlled you.

Maybe it's time to shake off the dead pieces and jump?

There will be a net to catch you. I promise.

Posted on September 30, 2013 and filed under risk.