(Middle-of-nowhere, Utah)
I’m not afraid of much. If a friend came over with a bag of dried crickets and dared me to try them, I’d gag to myself and probably still eat them, if only for the inner thrill of saying I’ve tried it. The last time I jumped out of my shirt was when a flying cockroach made its way inside it and I, ignoring the staring eyes, literally did jump out of that shirt, googly-eyed and running away in a frenzy. I’ve made other leaps and bounds ever since, most related to the tingle of new beginnings, false starts, and possibilities.
I owe it all to the parents that opened the backyard door in the summer and let bugs in, and helped me put on my one-piece swimsuit to go play outside in the pouring rain, because hell, even if I showed up home with pneumonia at least I’d had some fun. And even if we had to eat treats that tasted like ant, at least we’d let a nice breeze in. And that has made all the difference. For in trying times they will be the ones to answer the phone to “I’m nervous”, “...anxious” and “What if I fall?” After all these years I’ve figured out I’m lucky my mom wasn’t the kind of woman who ran to my rescue when I fell and scraped my knees on the pavement. Her demeanor said instead, “ Honey, the rest of the world might be bleak, but you have my permission to bleed a little”. I’m not worth any less with asphalt encrusted in my palms and a tear-stained face.
And there’s little else just as beautiful as the knowledge that you will be loved, even amongst failures and insecurities. Even after the journey’s done and on you’re on the way back home. That may be why despite being given ‘permission’ to be less than good enough, I’ve been fortunate in many endeavors. Because once you’ve made peace with all the ways in which to fail there is no love lost in spilling your best unto many shriveled things. And because, like my friend Norman said best, you just can’t see the beauty of the moon and not aim for it. To nerve-wracking, anxiety-inducing, sweat-producing experiences that have the power to grant you with a couple of scrapes here and there, and ultimately, change you.
Run chickadee.
Run into the forests,
into the clearing.
Come back with your hands full
or your wings clipped.
I’ll love you
just the same,
or maybe even more…
For trying.
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