making room for miracles
& finding my footing again
Listen along here as I read to you:
We lost our footing. That’s all. Trying to piece it all together. Trying to fit our pieces in a puzzle we weren’t made to fit in. So we make our own puzzle, yet again. We danced so hard the DJ came up to us after and said: “It’s not the volume, but the intensity.” Earlier a woman had walked over to us, whispering: “You’re art in motion.” I’d been in a low state lately. SAD is what some call it. The energy needed to get back up hadn’t been there. I’d been so scared. The night before, we ran in the dark. With our headlamps on. I couldn’t feel my arms to my fingertips. Gloves would have been nice. Feeling something was even nicer. At our turnaround point, we stopped and stared up into the night sky. Our headlamps caught a glimpse of something glowing on the tree trunks surrounding us. Spider eyes. I was seeing something I couldn’t have seen otherwise. Dancing felt much the same. My feet throbbed, but that didn’t stop me. Everything felt so clear. I remembered the Sarah dancing at a Dutch party in a tiny cinderblock building on a cold winter night in the Netherlands over 15 years ago. I could see the full story. How we’re supposed to be us, not anyone else. How we’re supposed to be here, not anywhere else.
Dear complex being — what have you been avoiding?
Last week I said I’m avoiding myself.
But really, it’s the free-fall feeling that lives underneath the thoughts that keep me bound up and wound up, in my mind.
It’s as if I’m upstairs tiptoeing down, catching glimpses of the fun being had in the living room, while I remain watching from the staircase.
This mind game.
It’s the crux of everything for me, maybe for you too — maybe even for every one of us humans, to some degree.
It’s caused me a lot of inner turmoil lately.
I can’t keep everyone safe anymore. That’s seriously what my mind thinks it’s doing, at all times.
It’s why it watches so closely. It’s why it holds the breath. Because at the end of the day, it wants me to believe it must be on guard to be safe, or at least to feel in control. To avoid feeling scared.
I’ve let my mind run me lately. Run unchecked. It’s been finding conflicts where there aren’t any. It’s been feeding me the worst case, repeatedly. It’s been threatening any forward momentum on the life in front of me, with its wild stories.
If I want this life in its fullest form, I have to do it scared. But how?
There’s one big thing I’ve been avoiding. A particular fear that’s become a phobia. I shelfed it until it came to me, saying loud and clear — you can’t avoid me any longer.
I’ve gotten the message lately that I’m going to have to walk through it.
I have, time and time again, while out in the world. But there’s another layer left. Facing it right here in my mind, when everything around me goes quiet.
That’s when it’s the loudest, just me and my fear. This is the final frontier.
Last week it was a story, a visual, a possibility — that grew to cover everything in front of me. My reality became so small, as it got bigger and bigger.
It’s asking me to put it down. To see what’s underneath.
What’s underneath?
I feel….
That’s just it.
It’s all the feelings underneath.
The feeling of being out of control.
I feel… scared.
How do you feel? And are you avoiding this feeling at all costs, like I have been?
I know what I want but the steps to get there are daunting and none of it is controllable. In my head it’s all too much, and it’s easier to just sabotage it or run the other way.
But what if there’s another way?
When I’m in a period of waiting or stillness, it makes sense the mind mushrooms into this enveloping cloud.
The part I’m missing is the simplest part of all.
Just letting it all float with me. Floating with it.
I’ll come back here in as many iterations as it takes.
Am I really scared? Or is my mind just trying to keep me safe? Am I more scared to not be scared? To set down the fear blanket, That keeps me confined to something contained? I know the answer. The breath will walk you through the unknown. Fear has hurt every part of my existence. And yet, the cost of setting it down has felt too threatening to my core. Is it possible I identify with being scared or just being responsible for holding the earth up? A return to the divine. I know it’s the key. And then I forget. I have to stop this cycle. There’s no room for life, here.
Room for miracles
I told a friend the other day I’m leaning into the spirit of the season. Leaving room for a miracle. I meant it. I know what it feels like to live in the divine state of being, and the only thing that seems to separate me from that — is my overthinking mind.
I saw my friend “Ma” at her shop yesterday. She was spinning like I do when it’s all closing in at once. Going through big changes, loads on her plate.
Right as she’d just locked her door for the day, a woman walked up asking her to don her holiday wreath with a bow. “Bring it here,” Ma said.
Andrew followed her down the street to her car. They returned together with a simple green circle of faux foliage.
There was something so human about this very small encounter. So ordinary, yet magnificent.
A small token of helping another. A shared sense of appreciation. The kind that knocks us out of the stories running amuck in our minds and puts us back into these moments of connection. A good tiding of comfort and joy.
I used to think things like holiday decor were extra or unnecessary. And maybe they are. But then I see these bows. I see what they mean to someone else’s day. I see the energetic exchange of something making someone’s day a little lighter, and brighter.
I see a gift, in the truest sense.
I didn’t expect a bow to be my divine symbol. A vivid reminder of the gift of existing. And the comfort and joy I’ve robbed myself of by the ways I’ve made things much harder than they need to be.
Above all, a reminder that I have to stay here, in the real world.
As soon as I retreat to my mind, I lose my footing.
And I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of tripping over my own two feet.
Take heart,
Sarah
Keep reading…
Here’s last week’s letter if you missed it. All past letters can be found in the archive.
