The Leap of Faith

Sometimes taking a leap of faith requires stepping back first.

You take a few steps. You run. And then you jump into the unknown, trusting there is a safety net somewhere beneath you.

But as I wrote in Home:

A net only promises the fall will not kill you.

It does not promise the fall will not hurt.

Fear has a way of paralyzing us, especially when we know something must change. We stand at the edge convincing ourselves that remaining where we are is somehow safer, even when staying has begun to hurt more than leaving.

In my case, I am moving back to the East Coast.

A place where I grew up, but somewhere I have always refused to call home.

And now it is calling me back.

I am leaving without a job waiting for me. Without a permanent place to live. I will stay with friends and family while trying to find my footing, going through a divorce, and figuring out how to stand on my own two feet again.

There is no clean direction forward.

Only forward.

Life seems determined to make me face the things I have spent so much time trying not to look at: the fear of being alone, the uncertainty of leaving without a job or a home of my own, the pain in my body, and the uncertainty inside my mind.

So I breathe through it.

What else is there to do but breathe through it and keep moving?

My mind lashes out in ways I have come to recognize. I mentally chase after women I think I might find some connection with, trying to fill a gap that seems to grow larger the closer I get to leaving.

Physical touch.

Emotional connection.

Some sort of gradience between my old life and the life of temperance that’s to come.

Not quite holding on.

Not quite letting go.

I am fortunate that my escape has never been substance abuse. Occasionally, a few hits of cannabis soften the physical pain and quiet things enough for my mind to rest. But the anxiety remains.

There are some things that cannot be numbed away.

And perhaps some things shouldn’t be.

Growth does not come from the pain itself, but from what we learn to do within it. To sit with the discomfort rather than immediately searching for something to make it disappear.

Each time I choose differently, I begin building new connections despite the discomfort.

Not escaping the pain, but slowly learning how to carry it.

Perhaps even changing because of it.

So I find myself leaning further into faith.

In search of answers hidden within, and the strength to accept the answers I find, whatever they may be.

I am beginning to understand that what will be, will be. Life has its plan, with or without my permission. My part is simply to remain willing to meet it with an open heart and an open mind.

And to trust that, no matter the outcome, things will be alright.

Not because I know where I will land.

Not because the fall will not hurt.

A net only promises the fall will not kill you.

Perhaps that is the leap of faith.

To jump without knowing what waits below, trusting that life will continue with or without me, and that somehow, in whatever form it takes, things will be alright.

And until I land, I breathe.

I breathe through the discomfort. I stand tall despite my fears. I muster the courage within myself to keep moving.

And when that courage is not enough, I remind myself of Footprints in the Sand.

During times of trial and suffering, when I can no longer carry myself, I must open my heart and mind even further.

Stop speaking.

Start listening.

Breathe.

And allow faith to carry me.

I do not know where I will land.

For now, I am still falling.

And still, I breathe.