Thoughts
of courage take me back to the wild edge where Texas ends and Mexico begins.
A moment captured by Ann Sydney Taylor .
***
“You’re
twenty-five now. How do you feel?” The question nonchalantly appears in a car
ride conversation with my baby sister (who is no longer a baby, but a fiercely
bright eighteen-year-old brimming with opinions and keen insights). It’s a
polite question she poses in-between text messages to her fellow graduating
friends, and though I know it’s benign, the question startles me into a
panicked realization : I am indeed twenty-five and I am still piecing my life together.
A sense
of desperation frazzles my wellbeing. I abandon my personal power and shine to
a projected idea of what society and those linear journeying folk define as
success and it doesn’t reflect my current reality. I momentarily forget the
validity and beauty of my own path.
Teetering
into falling prey to the crowd of inner critics, the spirit word for my
twenty-fifth year arrives just in time. Courage commands me to rise above the
luring voice of the inner critic. Courage reconnects me to back to my power
source, my life force, my steady flow of breath. Put to the test, this car ride
moment confirms that courage is the rightful companion for my twenty-fifth year
– it brings me back home to myself.
Since
sparkle has taken a glittery bow, I’ve contemplated a new word to be this
year’s spirit guide: a word to encompass how I intend to grow; a word to hold a
vision of what I plan to manifest; a word with the power to center, positively
challenge and heal; a word like courage.
How do I
feel now that I’m twenty-five? I want to feel courageous. The courage to keep
on sparkling, to trust my own intuitive whispers, to say yes to what lights me
up and say no to what feels like overwhelm.
I answer with “want” because fear
is here, too. I’m slightly petrified of stepping out of my comfort zone. I’m
afraid of failing. I fear being exposed in my inadequacies, but the fear to not
stretch my wings, to not follow a calling is greater than the desire to remain
complacent and content. Or as Anais Nin exquisitely writes, “And the day came
when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took
to bloom.”
By
embracing courage, I also confront my fear. The fear cautions me that I’m
exposing my authentic self to the world – through writing my truth, teaching
yoga from a tender heart – and the
courage grants me the confidence and the softness to live and express myself
from a vulnerable and true place. Fear and courage coexist, and I’ll be well
acquainted with both players by the end of the year.
Courage
promises to test, dare and push me; it won’t be a glittering dance like
sparkle, but I’m up for the challenge.
Courage,
I’m yours. Let’s see where this journey takes us.
