My Tent on The Beach

So I’ll admit that even I’ve been fascinated by my bold statement yesterday–”this year will change my life.” I try to avoid epic proclamations because, usually, they mean you have to do something. You’re now on the hook. Something had better become a life changer.

So I set out this morning with that in mind and managed to fully recapture the feeling of old. I completely went about my activities today in total shitshow fashion. I’ve cantored probably 1000 masses by now…I actually forgot a piece of music only to realize it after the service started…not good. And in the moment in which I was trying to understand how this was any different than the usual, I actually saw the difference and I came to understand more about the challenge of this year. It’s about fear.

I did something today I’ve never done. I panicked about it. But the lesson I walk away with is that I lived through it. And it was something I couldn’t solve and someone else could. That started me thinking that my challenge and my fear is to see what happens when I let go…when I stop trying so hard–which I know I can do but in the end will kill me. The challenge is to see what can and will happen when I don’t have control of the reins, either because I’m stupid (for which I can love myself) or I have no ability to see how things will end. What happens if I don’t try so hard? Or if I don’t proceed with the intention of pleasing anyone but myself? What happens when I stop gripping on so tight? Or when I lose my grip against my will? What will become of the “usual”? In these same terms, then, I wonder what becomes of that someone of something that flies in the face of their fears? What happens when someone becomes fearless? How do they get there? And what are the outcomes?

I sure did live through today. It was uncomfortable. I panicked for a little while. But in the end, it worked out. Others stepped in. The world kept turning. And I walk away feeling supported and nourished in a way I may not have even known was out there. And this is just about forgetting a piece of music and the ensuing flurry to get back on track. I can’t help but think that if I can take a deep breath and dive in to all of that that continually scares me…not just worries me but actually terrifies me, that I can make some progress…and not just for its own sake. But actually to find paths I never even knew could exist.

Or I could just jump off a cliff. It all feels the same.

In some ways I want to ask, “How did a new year get here so fast?” In other ways, it seems like I’ve earned the right to a new year and everything it promises.

And I believe this year will change my life.

I usually don’t have that feeling on this day or time; I’ve watched the New Year’s celebrations on tv (Dick Clark’s Rockin Eve used to be the absolute go-to until he had a stroke and now he just creeps me out…so I don’t really watch anymore…) and the ball would drop and everyone would make a big deal. And I would just feel nothing. I wanted to be that excited, that enamored with the idea of new and clean, a fresh start, a new canvas. Instead, I could never turn my head away from the past. More often than not, I live in what happened and treat what’s happening with an equal amount of apathy and disdain (what happened is much easier to handle…you’re dealing with facts and reality and not the tempting ether of what could be.

But this year is different. And I’ve felt this coming on for awhile. It’s almost against my will. But I feel that some material has shifted. The stars have aligned and something new, of which I have no knowledge, is definitely on the horizon. Whether it’s looming or perched ready for a grand entrance I don’t know. But the air smells different–like it does right before a thunderstorm when that first crack of lightening spiders through the air. The leaves blow upside down and for just a moment electricity becomes sensible, almost tangible. And as much as fear might instruct you to move to shelter, adrenaline rules that moment and begs you, no demands you, to stand right where you are and entertain the possibility that that spindly lightening hand or that peal of thunder might be the moment that you and your maker meet.

I am in that moment right now. It is a moment of alignment and as many of these moments (I believe, although this is my first) go, it’s not sprung on you. I’ve been doing yoga for years now, very intentionally, communing with whatever Universe is out there that determines all things including the tightness of my hamstrings. I’ve been singing in church for HOURS every week–more communing with the Universe, although dressed up in one particular way there. Nonetheless, I have spent some major, committed time asking open ended questions.

I think it’s been indicated to me that I should be ready. That I have been heard. There are answers coming…and I’d best be ready when they show up, whatever they are. The only way I know this to be true is the electricity of the air around me. There are few times in my life (but all incredibly precious) in which I have just known. I haven’t even needed confirmation because it’s all so clear. This is one. Things are about to change. And it’s mine to walk through that door or to stay so safely comfortable right here. And therein lies the challenge of change. While we all say we want it, we want the dream of it. We want the version we’ve laid out in our heads. We want to command it. And change is not to be commanded. Either rejected or embraced. We control the action, not the detail.

So, here I am. For the first time, maybe ever, I’m ready for this electric change. I’m embracing that this time next year, everything…EVERYTHING…will be different. And whether it’s better or worse…well, that’s my story to write.