It’s a story I’ve come to know so well in my life. It’s a feeling I fail to recognize until long after I get caught up in the feelings.
I can’t breathe.
2.5 miles into my tempo run yesterday, I stopped dead in my tracks. Tears fell down my cheeks. I was instantly overwhelmed by life. What are you afraid of? I asked myself out loud. I don’t want to fail. I don’t want to disappoint myself. I don’t want to disappoint those who believe in me. I just want Chicago (and life) to be a success.
For the last 1.5 miles I dissected what that statement means to me. What is failure? How could I possibly fail at Chicago? Why would I ended up disappointed? Why would anyone be disappointed in me? The answer is a simple one. The only way any of the above is possible is if I give up on myself, if I l loose heart in the process.
In these moments of panic, I imagine exactly what I don’t want. I imagine giving up, and in turn I end up doing exactly what I don’t want to do. I quit.
“Hope is fear’s antithesis. Hope is the reality we wish to see in the future, and fear is its shadow.” ~Chad Davis
Navigating the balance between hope and fear is a fine art. It’s one I have yet to master. I do know that when I let my hope turn into fear, I can’t breathe. I begin to panic. I begin to doubt myself and my ability. There is only one place were I find my breath again. It’s time to return to my yoga mat. It’s time to walk into a studio again and perform the comforting ritual of unrolling my mat and whispering Namaste after many intentional inhales and exhales.
“Hope and fear are inseparable. There is no hope without fear, no fear without hope.” ~Francois de la Rochefoucauld
I know this fear I’m holding on to is just a sign of how much passion I carry around with me for my goals. Through my breath, I can transform that fear into hope, and then I can learn to trust the process.