I get nervous. Every few days, once a week, every now and then, I feel the anxiety attached to taking a leap of faith. Sometimes it consumes me. Other times it quickly leaves.
Questions roll in looking for an answers. What are you doing? Where are you going? What’s next? Answers are no where to be found.
This is the thing about leaping. You have to commit. You can’t jump and panic half way. You’ll tumble down, down, down if you let yourself over think. Once you leap, the only choice is to fly.
A few years ago Christian and I took our mountain bikes to a local trail. It was new to me. I hadn’t looked at a map. I simply followed him. As we biked, the fall foliage quickly covered the trails. It was slippery. I felt unsteady. I couldn’t see where I was going. I got nervous. I started to panic. Where are we going? Which way does the trail go? What’s up ahead?
Patient at first, Christian looked back to reassure me. All I had to do was follow him and the trail. The more unsure I became, the more I doubted him and our journey. All I had to do was follow him and the trail.
Anxiety got the best of me that day. I got mad at him. I found my way back to our truck, I tossed my bike aside, and I sat there mad while he biked. I missed the entire experience. I never learned where I was headed or what was next because I didn’t trust the journey.
Right now I’m half way through my leap. I’m in the phase where trusting is essential. As much as I’d like to think I’m digging in to the work needed to delivery me on the other side, I’m not. The real work right now is letting go. I’m still leaping. No work is required. I’ve already leaped. Can I trust the fall enough to truly let go?
When the nerves creep in and the questions start to take over, can I trust myself and my intuition enough to continue to leap?
I’ve stood on the edge of mountains and wondered will I catch myself? I’ve climbed mountains, and I’ve reached the middle wondering if it was smart to do this alone. I’ve always kept going. I’ve always leaped. I’ve always climbed. I’ve always been rewarded.
Every time Christian and I bike together, his favorite thing to yell at me is a moving wheel doesn’t fall over. You just have to keep moving. Anxiety and nerves make me stop in my tracks. They make me fall over.
Right now isn’t the time to make my way back to the truck. It’s not the time to toss my bike aside. Right now is the time to embrace the experience. It’s time to live my husband’s advice.
Like a bicycle, like a wheel, life only builds momentum when you keep moving. In life when taking a leap of faith, you have to trust the motion of rolling. Sometimes faster. Sometimes slower. Sometimes with no clear direction. But always further than yesterday.