When the Ache Remains
the tenderness of sharing good news
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A song I’m loving:
I’m writing to you on Wednesday instead of Sunday this week because life has been so, so full and I finally have space to sit down and write. I also have some big news to share, news that feels both like a long time coming and a whirlwind all at once.
First, a few things I want to say:
What a gift it is to ourselves to let things take the time they take, even if the timeline is different than we think it’s supposed to be. What a gift it is to not force, to not push, to not rush what needs a slow, steady pace. What a gift it is to trust the unfolding, to trust the process, to trust the aligned timing of ourselves, our work, our capacity, our desires, or hopes, our lives. What a gift it is to allow ideas, dreams, and ways of being to morph from confusing to clear.
There have been countless times where I’ve thought it was too late: too late to try, too late to go after what I want, too late to start something new, too late to start over completely, too late to be taking my time, too late to wait for the right opportunity, too late to trust my desires or dreams as possibilities. Yet something I am learning, slowly, is that “too late” is so often just fear in disguise. It’s fear of failing, or not getting there eventually, or not being good enough, or (I could go on). I have been in the practice of asking myself when I notice these “too late” thoughts coming up, What is the fear here? What am I really afraid of right now? How can I tend to that fear instead of tending to the belief that it’s too late?
Allowing celebration, beauty, joy, and connection amid heartache, grief, anger, and fear is a reminder of our range, our capacity to be fluid and contain multitudes, our ability to hold the wide spectrum of our human experience at once. I used to lean away from celebration, as if it was a betrayal to pain. It is a constant practice to see celebration, goodness, beauty, and joy as necessary pillars of being alive, as methods of staying with all parts of our aliveness.
The tenderness of trying is worth acknowledging over and over again.
The tenderness of finally letting what has long been behind closed doors be witnessed and seen is worth acknowledging over and over again.
Following your heart’s longings takes such courage and fortitude. It takes consistency and trust. It takes the willingness to let others think what they think about you, and the willingness to get it wrong before getting it right, and the willingness to stumble and, also, to let things go well when they go well. It’s no wonder so many of us are afraid to name what it is we long for, to go toward our longings, to let others see us in the practice of trying. Seeing others trying, whether or not they fail, will forever inspire me and remind me of what’s possible. Seeing others trying helps me try, too.
Let it be possible. Let it be possible. Let it be possible.