I choose my path.


I’ve been frightened, scared, teetering.

I’ve been rationalizing, my mind has convinced me time and time again this last year to run for safety. Disguised often as “responsibility”, this safety has taken me in with open arms.

Its always appeared so comforting—but, as I discovered in my fit of tears and shaky realizations of truth so recently…it’s just been something to take the edge off.

But I need my edge.

The edge: a terrifying, rocky, vertigo-filled, path. A road appealing until you raise your foot to step out onto it; exhilarating to talk about, terrifying to set out upon.

To many others it appears as crazy— there are all sorts of roads that are well paved, they have standard—for goodness sake: guard-rails, well painted lines; perhaps most alluring are the streetlights… and tons of company.

The edge promises no such luxuries. It’s the mystery, the adventure, the grand discovery.

Least of all it promises safety—of ego, of pride, of the image we work so hard to carve out of ourselves, of the persona we so want to believe that we can hold up, covering our seeming imperfections and inadequacies….and our fears.

And how the hell do you navigate the edge without streetlights in the dark nights? In the quiet blackness of the new moon? How do you walk the path when your eyes are so acutely aware of the vertigo lurking around every corner?

You defy the mind and close your eyes. You feel your way. You trust the heart.


Such a simple, loaded word. So much hugeness crammed into 5 little, smooth letters.

But trust is not inherent to the mind; the heart rejoices in it—if only we could convince the heart to yell, and the ego to gently whisper. But alas, that’s not the way the cookie crumbles.

Is there any other option, but to carry on anyway? To choose to listen to the whisper of the heart, the longing of the soul, and gently move despite the mind?

The soul knows there is not, if we will hear and acknowledge it. And it gnaws at me.

I have been standing at the start of the edge, my full path, yet repeatedly turning my head back, hesitating a bit, putting one foot back on “solid”, “safe” ground.

And in this teetering, in this clinging to perceived “safety”, I deny my flow forward. I place my energy in two different places, and I stay stagnant.

But the universe is funny, it took the time to remind me recently that…even “safety” isn’t safe. It can in an instant disown you, it can spit you out just as good as an authentic fall from the edge.

Wouldn’t I rather fall, tumble, learn lessons and trip doing what I love?

Wouldn’t I rather climb back up again with an incredible view of my own, beneath a blanket of stars?

Wouldn’t I rather learn lessons in my truth, rather than in normalcy? Plenty have learned lessons from the worn path—isn’t it insanity not to hear them?

Wouldn’t I rather experience a journey in my authentic truth, rather than the ol’ paved road?

Don’t I know that life is in the journey, that that path is the destination in each moment—wouldn’t I choose to walk that path aligned with my truth?

Am I willing to put one foot in front of the other, and turn my back—for once and for all—on the safety of the well-worn road?

Can I trust that life will support me? Can I commit to building trust in my heart, to clearing space while being kind to the the ever-frightened mind machine?

Will I put one foot in front of the other, and move?

I would. I am. I can. I will.



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