What happens when you get past that distant fear and the looming future is the now: where your two feet are? One of my biggest goals was to get to be in an “Unnamed Movie” I love. (I say “Unnamed” for confidentiality purposes). And I was an extra in that movie. The dream came, looked nothing like I thought it would, and left. I’m not disappointed at all, but perplexed by what it’s like looking back on a timetable of desire, seeing the emotion of it almost omnipotently.
So I am here in the new now, or the now new. And the now is just a hilltop, not a final destination, and there are more hills and I am left shepherding more questions, herding them, swearing I have been brave all along.
Isn’t the scariest thing someone could ever say, “I want to be a writer,” or just “I want to be,” period? How can you not choke on your own declaration, getting out the words that are so big they just might be who you are.
Sometimes the coming time can have a presence so big it has it’s own gravity that pulls very hard. Often that pull hurts. And calling it “good” or “bad” is irrelevant because “good” or “bad” just isn’t adequate enough to describe who or what we will be when the gravity has done its work stretching.
I get caught up in the idea of “being on the other side,” but when is life ever really like that? You have to be in the middle of lots of beginings, middles, and ends all intertwined, and you can’t just wait until the end before you find the joy of now.
I believe there is a temptation to feel the gravity around you as if everything else is pulling on or against you, but I feel when we are stretched we are given a larger gravity and it is us who has the capacity to relax and let our own gravity pull just because we are existing in the new now. So the bravest thing I could ever do is realize I am already enough.