My mentor once discussed with me the act of showing up for one’s own life - “to be present and not simply there,” as she explained it one April afternoon. I always assumed it had more to do with showing up on time for appointments and the like, a task which has never been my strong suit in my 27 years. Or, perhaps it meant active listening in conversation, showing the person with whom you’re speaking that you’re truly engaged in their words and thoughts. Whichever it was, I tucked her words neatly away into my subconscious, not really paying attention to how important to me such a delicate choice would be until two years later.
As pages of my life turn and the story continues to unfold, I increasingly find myself face-to-face with exciting - and downright scary - possibilities that could dramatically change the path I’ve set out on. I feel I’ve reached this point before: being on the verge of something miraculous yet entirely undefined at the same time, knowing that I must actively choose my next step instead of passively tiptoeing by. I think of the ocean. The current curves and curls, beckoning us for a swim in the sea. We dip our toes at the edge of the coast, startled by the cold. A wave will crash, its foamy aftermath swirling around our ankles. We can’t see our feet temporarily because of tihs, and peering further, we can’t see how deep the water is a mere five feet away. The longer we wait, the closer the tide rushes in: the time to act, it seems, is now. Do we turn back and wait for shallow waters; or, do we dive right in?