I leap from a building. I am not afraid but strangely confident. This is the way of dreams, emotion and logic defy reality. In this recurring dream of mine, I can sort of fly, adjust my trajectory, bounce off other buildings and make subtle adjustments to direct myself. I’ve never totally known what this means, maybe nothing, but it’s a surreal experience. I’m both in control and not in control as I bound and float through the air. In this dream consciousness, I know I can’t defy gravity forever, but for a length of time, it’s like I’m an astronaut.
So often, people refer to big, intentional life changes as “leaps.” I do it too. An appropriate metaphor for a major transition, something that feels and appears brave. The word leap sounds so elegant, so finite, so clearly taking you from one place to another. My reality feels less brave, a little more clunky. My leap started more than a year ago, and I am still suspended, searching for a place to land.
And mid-leap, I am adding another, moving from the only home my boys have ever known to live in a place we have always loved. Objectively, it’s easy to question whether a leap within a leap is prudent? Or maybe it’s just the time to do it so we can settle all at once. I know this question has no answer. Some may wait, others may not. We each decide when, where, and how the leaps in our lives happen.
I wish I had the luxury of the leaps in my dreams - gravity defying, and powerful. But my experience, at least how I am living it right now, feels more like leaping from rock to rock across a river. The other shore is there, but where? And now the water is starting to rise.
This week, my husband gave a speech to a group of college students. He talked about three things - curiosity, courage and patience. All three words of wisdom apply to life always, and I often think about curiosity and courage, for these are words that guide me too, but his thoughts on patience…they challenge me.
“Patience is learning to sit with uncertainty and ambiguity. It’s knowing when to pause and when to proceed. It’s trusting yourself to keep moving forward even without a clear view of the destination, understanding that - although detours or obstacles may impede your path and delay your progress - you’ll reach your goal eventually. And it’s the ability to stay focused, positive, and true to yourself in the face of that uncertainty.”
What does patience look like when the water is rising and you feel like options are few? What’s the timeline for patience when it feels that time is no longer in plentiful supply?
The challenge of writing about an experience as it’s unfolding is that your perspective is limited. You are, as Brené Brown puts it, in the “messy middle.” In the middle of this river, I can’t yet know how the rocks will align. I wonder if a pending move will add new rocks to the river. I’m not certain which rocks are firm, slippery or wobbly, I simply have to keep going, keep leaping from one to another with the confidence that eventually, somehow and someway, I will make it to the the shore I can’t yet discern. I’m at a stage where I must quicken my pace - not to rush but to keep moving.
One day, I know that I will look back and say, “Ahhh,” seeing a clear path. I will see the necessity of having used certain rocks and not others, the purpose of the stumbles and the value of getting a little wet. While, I can imagine this wisdom of my future self, I am very much feeling the reality of my current, wobbling rock.
I am not there yet.
Leaping I left one shore without sight of the other, large rocks, one after another after another peaked from the water's surface beckoning my feet. Flow was low when I started, rocks plentiful I meandered, lingering watching water eddy and flow beneath my feet But now... The water rises I hasten my steps Rocks, once supporting my weight become shadows as snow becomes water. Leap. Leap. Where is the shore? Patience, they say. How long? I cry. How wet must I get? Sometime, I know not when, I will find myself dry, warm, settled atop another shore. I'll look back and see it - a constellation made by a series of leaps.
Kristi thank you for sharing your vulnerability. We all have "messy middles". Your writing is beautiful and inspirational, and your words help me immensely.
Beautiful - thanks for sharing as always, Kristi!