I feel like a base jumper
after running to the edge of a cliff
(an unknown)
and leaping off
in the moments before the utter silence and freedom of freefall.
My heart is still pounding from the effort
not yet accustomed to the ease.
Somewhere in between. Liminal.
For the last five years, I’ve had a vision
that has slowly developed, like an image held up to the light in a shadowy blackroom.
Albeit slowly, the vision that appeared was vigorous, vibrant.
It started on the dining room table, all post-it notes and big dreams.
It was forged on late nights and early mornings,
on mothering while coaching while being a full-time employee while attending births while writing while cutting my teeth as an entrepreneur
while experimenting and failing and trying again and figuring out and bootstrapping.
The vision wanted so badly to become reality that it asked us to upturn our lives
to re-evaluate what really mattered
to get rid of pants that don’t fit and ideals that were more socially-constructed than
you know, us. (that “a” word again: authentic).
And now, there’s this.
I’m back at the dining room table.
Post-it notes everywhere.
Writing, still. (always)
In my small bungalow by the ocean
where I don’t have to work so hard to pay the mortgage
and other women to look after my kids
where I can notice the chickadees at the bird feeder.
My heart is still pounding from the effort
not yet accustomed to what it means to be here yet.
I have been approaching my intentions for this year with steadfastness and reverence and a great many long, thoughtful pauses.
I’ve been living by a word of the year, and ways of being, for four years now,
and being an actualizer at heart,
I cannot take these things lightly.
Because so often, like it or not, if I declare it, I will make it be
come hell or high water.
(it’s a blessing and a curse, y’all).
This year, in my personal life and my business, I’m honouring what it is to be in freefall.
I’m either done with the hustle, or it’s done with me.
I’m happy where I am.
It’s enough.
For once – ever – I don’t have a lot of “goals” I want to accomplish.
It’s a juicy and desperately uncomfortable place to be, all at once.
My word of the year is JOY.
This is not the ebullient kind of joy, I don’t think, but it does have its own radiance. It’s more of a steadfast, slightly fierce joy, that just keeps. showing. up. In the smell of freshly baked cookies or a full client roster or a parenting win or just not going to bed at night without taking a deep breath.
My ways of being are to TEND and to be WILD and BRAVE.
It is to both attend to my own needs – for many gulps of fresh water and fresh air, for movement and connection and stillness and peeing when I have to pee (amiright?), and to be connected to the trees and the ocean where I live, to mystery and full moons and sisterhood and the occasional adventure. And to be brave: oh, this is not about being bold or fearless, no. This is to be me, in ways and in a world where it takes a certain grit to show up as I am and not wish to be any different.
In my work, I crave DEPTH, and MASTERY.
It is time for me to claim. To step out of experimentation and not-knowing and self-doubt and scarcity and into confidence. Depth, not breadth. Conviction, not comparison. You guys, I’m going to fucking OWN IT this year.
My ways of being in my work are SIGNIFICANCE and EASE. Oh, and more of that BRAVE stuff.
I want it to feel easy, and I want everything I do and everything I offer to be significant. All at the same time, not one without the other. It’s about being oh-so-clear about what I’m here for, and showing up to do that work, every day, every way. No more, no less. Unapologetic. Steadfast.
As I read the words I just wrote
(because I show up here for catharsis just as much as expression)
in my year, I stand like a tree.
Deep roots.
So deep.
Solid on the ground
but not being afraid to bend to the wind
Honouring incubation, birth, blossoming, harvest, death and rebirth.
Oh yes.
This year, I will be a tree.