The primal scream

Growing up, our family went to the same amusement park every summer. And although I looked forward to it as one of the main highlights of every summer, I can look back and see I also dreaded it a bit- because every year I would listen to the part of me that was too scared to get on the scariest rides. If you're someone who has always liked scary rides, this story may not make sense to you, but those rides were terrifying to me- even from the ground. My best friend from childhood was someone who, as soon as she was tall enough, would hop right in line with my dad and my older brother. A huge part of me wanted to be there too with them. And a couple of times I actually did hop right in line with them, like I wasn't scared at all...and then I scooted right out once the pounding in my chest took over, or I got any hint of it being too late to bail out. And every single time, I would watch safely from the ground- desperately wanting to have the courage to be up there with them, in my head knowing that it must be incredibly thrilling (and even safe?) if so many people kept riding over and over again. Yet I still stood and watched, refusing everyone's prodding to just try. Year after year, for at least a decade of years when I was tall enough to have been up there with them, I looked on with jealousy as if I had no choice. When I was 16, as part of a big youth group trip to a huge amusement park, I succummbed to peer pressure and hopped in line. Ironically, the feeling I have right now sitting here at my desk in my quiet house while I write this is almost identical to the internal feelings I experienced that day. I will never forget what that was like- standing in line for that ride, knowing in your heart that you're actually finally going to do it, that you're determined to get on that damn ride and not sit this one out, even though you might just throw up waiting in line thinking about it. The thrill and the terror all at once as you watch people getting off talking about how amazing it was and how much you're going to love it, listening to them and wanting to believe that, but at the same time silently looking at all the crazy dangerous twists and turns and hearing the terrifying screams. Trying hard to convince yourself to stick with it, stay put despite what you see, watching people get back in line, and assuring yourself it has to be safe and fun if they keep going, trying hard to ignore the voice in your head that keeps pointing out the part of the ride that you can't even see- the part of the ride where you hear the most screams coming from. Then the moment that you're up, first in line, and you become convinced that you're actually really going to hurl from the amount of butterflies and who knows what else that seems to freaking out with you in your guts. That moment when you recognize that this is your very last chance to bail, and yet you stand still. Desperate with fear, but for once not running from it. Sitting in the seat, buckling in, reassuring yourself that you're truly not going to die, that you can do this.... the take off, the terrifyingly slow and crickety climb up what some part of you still thinks could be the plunge to your death....and then AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!! The release, the primal scream from somewhere deep inside you that you didn't even know existed until now, followed by the scream that comes from not knowing what else to do when your stomach threatens to exit your body. Oh my goodness, I hate that feeling, that horrible awful feeling in my stomach- the one I always dreaded and knew would be there, but really all you can do is scream to physically keep that feeling at bay. And so I screamed, louder and louder, longer and longer- all to keep away that feeling of my stomach flying up. But then I noticed something....for as much as I hated that feeling in my stomach, I was in love with that scream, that forceful release that feels so out of my control. In fact, in that quick moment, I realized that I love that scream more than I hate the feeling of my stomach flying up into my throat. So much so, in fact, that I realized I was still screaming even when were climbing again and not coming down anymore. So much so that, ever since that day, I have never gone to an amusement park and NOT ridden a roller coaster or something terrifying like it...and to this day I scream like a banchee from beginning to end, delighfully humiliating any child that happens to be graced with the seat next to me!

And so here I am today writing about and reliving this vivid memory, this part of my history that I realize now both existed in history and in this moment all at once, for this realization today: as much as I think I want safety, I don't. Although my pattern has been to hold on tightly to what feels secure and solid ground, what I truly crave is the thrill, the scream, the primal release that comes from going for something that feels so unsure and scary- trusting the voice in me that assures me it will all be fine and letting that bigger part of me take over and express how it needs to during the most terrifying parts, without any part of me needing to control or know the outcome. And I see now that the momentum builds; with every experience of this letting go and trusting, I can feel a sense of deep purpose and alignment and expansion that is greater than any fear, feeling, thought or emotion. It is my deepest desire, this freedom and this release.

Last night, at the request of Kyle Cease's book, I made a list of all the things that I want, all my deepest desires for this life. The list included some circumstantial things like treating my body better and traveling more, and some of those things I know will be natural by-products of what's happening for me, but mostly the list reflected the deep desire I have to live in my truth, to be authentic to who I truly know I am and the potential within me, rather than how the world has taught me to be, or how I've decided the world expects me to be. And this. Writing. This is one of the ways that I'm called to express in this world- this is my playground. And singing. God, what joy comes from me belting my voice out in devotion! Regardless of who is reading, lsitening or watching, I am intent on listening to and following my inner guidance, to acting consciously in every moment, truly listening for the voice that is me and turning down the volume of all the voices that are not. In the name of sweet freedom, out of love for this world and deep dedication to my calling, today marks a moment I am committed to breaking some habits and patterns that I have shackled myself to. This post today, and for the next 90 days at least, is my response to a deep calling within me to express myself as the infinite source that I know is truly me. This is my attempt to free myself from the self-imposed chains of fear and illusion that I've created through this safe and beautiful picture of a life. This is my white flag of surrender, my willingness to walk my rock-solid identity as I've known it into its certain death- I'm handing myself over to who and what I truly am, and how it is that I am to serve. I pledge to myself in this moment to live my truth.

For about a year now, I've been feeling overly comfortable with life- contentment to the point of complacency. Don't get me wrong- I recognize that I am playing in a great life- I have manifested myself into a safe and lucrative job, with a wonderful loving husband who has helped to create and raise 3 great kids, 2 sweet dogs, and 1 crazy cat in a comfortable home in an incredibly beautiful place with amazing experiences to draw upon. If I am 100% honest, which I determined to be here now, I will also say that I am also experiencing a level of disgust, frustration, and BOREDOM with the stagnation of this day to day beautiful and safe, yet mundane life that I've so perfectly created. I often say the mantra to myself, "I am happy, I am healthy, I am abundant, I am free" and I can see that circumstantially, when I look at my life, I have co-created exactly what I thought that mantra meant. And while deeply appreciative for the happiness, health, abundance and freedom that I enjoy in my life, I see now that I've barely even touched the surface of potential for what is available to me; I want more in a profoundly deeper way than I ever could have or ever will be able to imagine. I'm realizing that I'm done with playing small- and although it so totally excites me to have reached this point of surrender, it's terrifying all at the same time- terrifyingly exciting. I am totally and completely uninterested in continuing to be safe and comfortable at the cost of feeling alive and excited about life. I know that being comfortable and safe is not what I was called here to do or be. I (we) are built for so much more. At 41 I'm finally ready to hop on the real ride of life- I'm all done watching safely from the ground. I have zero idea what comes next, but I know it's going to be terrifyingly exciting and I think I really really love that.