Leap and the net will appear, they say. You have to risk it all to have it all, they say. You never know until you try, they say.
They get really pushy, don't you think?
This whole baring my soul via a 40,000-word book thing has become a second marriage for me. It has evolved from just a simple love affair to a complex internal ecosystem of woundedness and healing and disappointment and forgiveness and hope.
It started off as something I just had to do. I just had to get this thing out of me so I started writing. Then it became this monumental love letter to the creative spirit and a coups de grace to Resistance once and for all. As I read it all the way through for (presumably) the last time before we send the bad boy to press, I realized the book was a distant (somewhat smarter) version of me reminding, nay, begging the current (somewhat dopier) version of me to not repeat the same mistakes twice. The book, a chronicle of hard lessons learned, lays out many ways I went wrong and how I learned to go right. As I was reading it, I couldn't help but hear that distant smartypants version of me shouting, "DO NOT MAKE THIS MISTAKE AGAIN. YOU ALREADY LEARNED THIS. MAKE A NEW MISTAKE PLEASE, AND MOVE THE #$%@ ON!"
She sounded a lot like those people out there who say "leap and the net will appear." She's very annoying. And relentless.
As with anything, there are two ways I can approach this book launch. Timidly or forcefully. Anything that's not fierce, bold or lit up is just noise. And, much to my dopey dismay, I don't want to just make noise. I would actually really literally like to make others believe in the goodness and realness of being creative. I would actually really literally like to help others see their own capacity for creative genius. I would actually really literally like to create a community of creative gurus who could potentially shift their own communities and worlds by bringing that belief in the creative spirit to those around them. So timid has no place here.
But the one-two-punch duo of Forceful + Courageous is going to take something other than rational planning. Unfortunately, it's going to take leaping. It's probably going to take failing in some ways. And I'm used to failing, but I don't want to fail the same way. I want to fail bigger and better, baby. I want to know that if I have to make mistakes, at least they're new ones. At least I've grown in my ability to mess up.
This post is an awkward public reminder for me, but I hope it's a less awkward internal reminder for you, too. This we know: we don't know. You could make an amazing choice or a less than perfect move, but if you hook your choice to that deep inside dream-generator that wakes you up in the morning and puts you to bed at night, you're moving forward.
They say leap and the net will appear, and ya know, I do believe that. I do believe when we make space for serendipity, it shows up. Sometimes we trip into a leap, sometimes we fling ourselves into a leap, but either way it's forward motion. Either way, the wind and momentum and sheer gravity of our bravest choices will carry us for a moment while we gather our resourcefulness. And the best thing about this jump is landing in a brand new place.