My Next Great Leap

"I'm scared."
"Me too.  But it's a good scared.  Like when you hike up to the top of the mountain and you're about to drop in.  You look down, take a deep breath, see your route, and then just go for it.  It's why you climbed up there."
"Yeah but it's scary."
"I know but I usually don't make it that far unless I'm committed to making the run."
"Usually, I'm so tired and annoyed from dragging the other person to the edge of the cliff that when I get there I don't have anything left and I say forget it and walk back down alone cursing."
"I operate a chairlift."

I let his words sit with me.  And I realized he was right.  Getting to this place has been easy.  Like riding a chairlift.  Sure at the beginning we had a few stops and starts and things were icy.  But once we got going it's been fairly effortless.

Something I'm not at all used to.  I'm used to forcibly tying the person to my back and dragging them along for the ride whether they wanted me to or not.  To marching us forward even when we were about to kill each other or collapse from the exhaustion it takes to keep a bad thing alive.  Because we will be the Valedictorian of love dangit, get up, let's go!  Struggle and strife and not fitting is my comfort zone.

This set it and forget it.  This natural rhythm.  This ease.  Not so much.  I don't know what to do with it.  Especially now that I'm faced with jumping.  With having to decide what next and where do WE go from here.  WE.  Not Sara.  Not me.  WE.

Instead of hammering out a plan I come up with all the reasons he's not right for WE.  Why I should just leave him standing there and walk down alone.  Not yogic enough.  Not smart enough.  Not rich enough.  Not old enough.  Not settled enough.  Not driven enough.  Not enough enough.

Then I pick fights and act crappy and yell about blue hair so he'll tell me, "Forget about it I don't wanna jump with you after all."

Except that's never what he says.  He says perfect things like, "I operate a chairlift."  Things that make me realize that what's really going on is about me.  My enoughness.  My strong enough.  Interesting enough.  Pretty enough.  Smart enough.  Rich enough.  My broken not enough chatterbox self up to her old lies.

Because all this time I've been dragging people to the cliff she's been in charge.  Been telling me no one would really jump because it'd be with me.  Little broken not enough enough me.

Except I'm not broken anymore and neither is he.

We didn't drag each other to this place.  No one was kicking or screaming or dying to run away.  It just happened.  The chairlift did its job.  Got us to the top.  And now we have to drop in or ride back down.

And while I'm not ready to say which one it will be,  either way I hope we do it together.

Because this is a ride I'm not ready to get off (even if it does terrify me).

XO,
Sara