When the Fire Fades

Ever noticed the over-bubbling of ideas in people fresh out of a workshop? Everything is possible. The world is their playground. Human beings now exist solely to guide them along their path. Suddenly, even grumpy Mr. Ross at the corner seem to smile at them, the sun shines brighter, the 0 in their bank account is an open invite to the universe, and yeah, they probably lost some weight too.

What happens to the magic once the afterglow fades? Reality quickly sucks one back in, and the totally doable idea gets shot further and further out into the cosmos until only a mirage remains. Perhaps it pokes you in the side after a meditation or shakes you up when you dream at night. Certainly the bittersweet taste of an unlived life remains.

How did I ever think I could start a coaching business, I can’t even coach my cat to pee in the box. Become a private yoga teacher, yeah right, I barely threaten myself to do 10 minutes in the morning. A spiritual teacher who drinks wine every week, enjoys multiple partners, and prefers to wear miniskirts and heels would be stoned to death with hate-mail after the first public appearance. And further and further away they go. Ideas, dreams, and visions slip away as preset boundaries close us into our safeguarded comfort zone: a zone of uncomfortable comfort where stagnation rules and disbelief of self reigns supreme.

Are these visions kept safe in a dimension of forgotten futures? Do they wait for us until we’re ready, or forever dissolve?

Burnmarked Bipolar

5 years. No medication. 2 ½ university degrees. 8 countries. And a dozen heartfelt connections later I am still terrified. Scared to death to share my story because of its sacredness. A sacredness more commonly ridiculed, demolished, and locked away than unfolded.

I spent months and years wishing I could wash off my label. But it burned deep into my skin. Like someone tattooed 'psycho' on my forehead. Even after it's been laser removed, the scar tissue remains.

Bipolar. Not just any bipolar. Bipolar type one. Manic depressive. The highest sort of maniac. Infinite times more likely to self-destruct before the age of thirty than ones peers.

No wonder. As I sat in front of my psychologist at the age of twenty-fucking-one and received a paper to file for permanent mental disability, I too would most likely have self-destructed by now if I followed my prescribed path.

Speaking of prescriptions. The cocktail of numbness they shove down your throat hoping you'll forget enough of who you are to ever consider alternatives. I feared myself for years because I was told I was a danger to me. Now, I find it far more dangerous to never face oneself and one’s army of demons and wait until they violently erupt to the surface, than to turn around and say "hi, you're part of me for a reason, I'd like to know why?"

Path, Potential & Perfectionism

Strangled by fear of failure and paralyzed by perfectionism I do nothing but wait. Wait for the day lightning strikes and erases every inclination to self-sabotage.

Until then, I jump forward at any chance to do everyone else’s work but my own. Because I trust myself enough not to fail for others. Why do I then fail myself by not even trying?

I am a writer that never writes, a dancer who never dances, a singer who never sings, and a healer who stopped healing because it hurts too much.

All that makes me me I let be. Because in a twisted way, it is safer to spend my time thinking of doing things, fearing the failure of doing them wrong, and doing other people’s things than actual action for my own satisfaction. All the things I love the most, I also fear to death.

I do actually love my job, but I wonder if I can do my job and my work at the same time? I believe the answer is yes. Not only in the case of me. I think there is a perfect opportunity for people’s day-to-day jobs to feed (or be part of) their higher purpose. Simply notice how what you do now feed into what you might do later, whether it is a skillset, connection, or inspiration. I viscerally felt my writing block start to crumble as I watched a presentation on writing tools yesterday. And today, I finally write again…

Lately, I have taken one step forward professionally and two steps back personally. I am ready to merge these fields and take three collective steps in the right direction. Hopefully, it won’t be as hard once I’ve seen how my job can feed my work, and any action is better than inaction.