The Fall.

On surrender, presence, and the possibility waiting when you release control.

I just paid my cell phone bill and filed my GST taxes - one month later than I should have - and my business account barely had enough to cover them.

I felt the unease rise in my body - what that number in my bank account meant, why it was as low as it was, what I was making that mean - and next thing I knew I was on IG.

Avoiding. 
Distracting.
Numbing rather than feeling. 
And a post stopped my scroll.

A carousel post by Matt Gottesman:

It’s closer than you think. — God
It’s going to exceed what you imagined. — God
Make room… it’s on the way. — God
I’m about to restore what you thought you lost. — God
You’re about to see why I made you wait. — God
This time… my plan. — God

These were the words - white text on a black squares - that made my thumb hover over my screen as I used social media to self soothe.

Because that’s often what it is for me.

I don’t use IG to stay connected - I’m 42 and old school.
I prefer a phone call or a text - and truth be told, the texting is getting harder to maintain.
There’s no container in which to hold a conversation when it happens with taps of thumbs on screens… it just lingers.
Always open, always waiting, always ready - and there’s an energy in that a nervous system feels. 

The lack of completion.

But with a call, you say hello, connect, share, laugh, maybe let a few tears fall - as nervous systems and bodies do when we regulate to the voice and tone of someone we feel safe with and loved by - and then you say goodbye.

IG for me, at least lately, is typically where I find myself when I don’t want to be with what I’m feeling.

And at that moment I was avoiding feeling the lack.
The sadness.
The grief that has touched my life, my business, my relationships, and my body the last 2 years.

And it’s not just the money.
It’s the version of me I used to be.
And it’s been hard to not see this as a sign that I failed.

I went from a thriving bodywork and massage practice in a busy clinic, to my own practice in my own space, to my practice now resembling something of a hobby out of my home with just enough money coming in to cover a few bills, expenses, and the continuing education I take. 

But it wasn’t a failure.

My body, my capabilities, and my capacity changed.
And I found myself in and out of hospitals and specialist appointments more in the last 2 years than I have my whole life.

I didn’t fail.

My body asked for something new. 
She needed something different.
And I had to, and somewhat reluctantly chose to honour that - honour Her as best I could, as best I can.

Yet, at the moment it still feels like failure.

So these posts from God courtesy of Matt Gottesman stopped my scroll.

Because it doesn’t feel close.
This isn’t what I imagined, and what I had imagined is no longer possible.
Because I want to know why. 
I want to know how. 

How is what I lost going to be restored? 
What am I waiting for? 
And what plan is that?

When life shifts in the abrupt ways it often does and you no longer have control over the things you thought you had control over…

When your life, work, relationships, your body, or your health change in ways that make you feel powerless, words like these - they stop you.

They make you feel.

Matt Gottesman

Once upon a time - that feeling would have been anger and doubt but today - I felt hope. 

So even though I questioned the words that showed up on my screen - there was a sense of curiosity and surrender to them. 

Maybe even a bit of relief.

Because control is an illusion.

And it’s one that I’ve been clinging to.
One that’s becoming harder and harder to hold.
One I can feel slipping from my grip just a little bit more each day…

If you don’t have control, if your body, mind, and spirit are exhausted from trying to hold on, if what you’re holding onto is about to slip from your fingers - what options do you have left?

The simplest, and what should be the easiest and most logical thing to do is to simply let go.

It’s also the hardest thing to do because you don’t know where you’ll land when you do.

And as I say this I realise (I’m curious if you made this connection too) that when we talk about holding on, about letting go - we assume and reference the fall as though it is inevitable.

We wonder what - or who - will be there to catch us, cushion our body, or soften the blow when we land…

Why do we assume we’re suspended somewhere? 

On the edge of a cliff or hanging by an invisible thread above the ground as we cling to what we want, to what we know, to who or what we love?

What if we’re not - suspended or teetering on the edge of a cliff high above the ground?

What if we’re already on the Earth?
Held by her.
Supported by her and we've just forgotten?

What if there is no fall?

What if in letting go you simply return…

To your body.
To your breath.
To the present moment.

What if the moment you soften your grip and open your hand you feel the wind kiss your palm - dance between your fingertips and it comes into view?

The trees.
The forest.
The paths.
The possibilities…

I think I’m ready to let go.

Because maybe it is actually closer than I think.
Maybe it will be more than I ever could have - or did - imagine.

So if you’re holding on to something too, if you’re scared and unsure - know you’re not alone. 

And know you don’t have to let go with me.

That just because I share these words, am making this connection, and am pondering the philosophical possibilities - it doesn’t mean I’ll have the strength to loosen my grip today.

Or even tomorrow.

It’s okay that things take time.
It’s okay if you take your time.

It’s okay if you need to hold on just a little bit longer.

(If you knew there was no fall - that you were already standing on solid ground - would you dare to let go?)