You stand there, inches from nothingness. Your heart races, but you feel calm. The cool air prickles your skin, but it’s refreshing. Everything you hate stands behind you; it’s what’s pushing you, really. The emptiness that stands before you…well, you almost welcome it. You can’t pinpoint what brought you here. But you know it’s a collection of all the little things. It’s this and that. And who really cares about this and that? They do, that’s who. And you have to be everything to everyone; it gets exhausting. Doesn’t it?
So you stand. You peer over the edge with next to nothing holding you back. But you can’t do it. You can’t jump. Why, you wonder. You glance over your shoulder and you’re reminded of everything you’re running from. It hurts you. It scares you. But you can’t seem to let it go.
It’s just as hard to take a leap of faith. I hope none of you have ever really been standing at the edge, contemplating jumping. And if you have, please, please go find help. I can’t help you. I can try, but I’m not trained. But we’ve all stood at the edge contemplating a leap of faith. Is it worth it? Will things be better on the other side? I can’t answer that. But I can tell you that some risks are worth the taking.
I’m on an edge, figuratively, of course. You don’t have to worry about me jumping off any mountains any time soon. I’m scared to death of heights. And if you ask me: that’s the worst way to go. Plummeting to your death. Nope, not for me. But this edge that I stand near, it keeps getting closer and closer. I’ve planned and prepared for it. And in most ways, I feel ready for it. But I’m terrified that someone is going to push me before I’m ready. No, I don’t mean that I feel like I’m being pushed into marriage, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m talking more about all the other changes that come with it.
-the job (?)
-just all the “newness” in general.
I don’t do well with change. If it’s anything short of my hair, I’m terrified of it, really. And as each week passes me by, I’m delighted that this (very welcomed) change in my life is approaching. But with every box that I fill with my childhood, I’m reminded that there is no going back.
Something you all may not know about me: I’ve never really moved in my life. My family moved from CA to NC when I was a year old, but I obviously don’t remember that. And moving to college doesn’t count. Because somewhere in the back of your mind you know it’s not forever. You can always go home. And home, for me, has always been the same place. The same house. The same driveway. The same cheerful mother standing over a giant pot of spaghetti sauce to greet you. And when I packed my belongings and moved them from apartment to apartment, it didn’t feel like this. Maybe I’m just one big ole’ sap, but I feel like this is it. This is a right of passage, or something. And it feels like now I don’t have a choice but to grow up. Okay, laugh at me if you want. I don’t care. Moving away from your childhood home, no matter where you’re moving or with whom you’re moving, is hard.
So on May 22nd, I’ll be standing on an edge. An edge I’ll be so happy to be standing on. And all my friends and family who have always loved and supported me will be the ones to push me over the edge. Just please, all I ask is for you to push lightly.