It’s humbling how life can veer from inexplicably good to simply inexplicable. I was reading yesterday’s passage from The Book of Awakening by Mark Nepo which I share from quite a bit, and he wrote a passage about navigating life’s waves. 

When I read it, I thought about surfing. I’ll be honest, I am a beginner-intermediate surfer at best. I can (usually) ride the wave and turn a little. It’s really fun though. But a lot of work, too. I tell the kids in my groups at junior lifeguarding and nippers not to be afraid of the waves. I tell them, “respect the water, but don’t be so afraid to get tossed by a wave that you stay in the break.” You have to get past the break in order not to get broken on. And, the only way past the break is through.

That’s what happens to us, though, more often than not. We see a big set rolling in when we thought we were entering calm water, and we panic. We try to get the timing right. We pause, deliberate our best path of entry, and try to get out of the impact zone without getting pummeled and spit up onto the shore. 

I’ve gotten really good at appreciating the still waters, at seeing the beauty in life’s simpler beauties. When it gets tougher, though, that beautiful water gets sandier and cloudier and it’s hard for me to see all the goodness because I’m spending half my time underwater, diving under wave after wave. It’s difficult for me to make the transition from calm days (joyful/relaxed/mundane) to the bigger days (exciting/stressful/extraordinary/unsettling). Even when it’s a good change, it’s hard for me. My emotions are like the water, going from still to a set wave, and I feel like I’m barely catching my breath. 

The thing is— sets come and go. They don’t last all that long. Usually, a few dives and a few strokes later— I’m in the clear, the water is calm again, waiting for me past the break. It’s the same with the flood of emotions. If I just sit with them, and I practice not acting on them so impulsively or fighting them (you don’t fight a riptide when it sucks you out — you swim with the current and then you make your way to the shore, to safety), they pass without much of a hitch and then I get to enjoy the calmness once more.

Relationships (especially anything bridging on a romantic relationship) stir up the waters of my life like NO OTHER. I try to see every person in my life as a spiritual assignment; with every person who enters and exits my life I think, “what are you here to teach me?” Recently, the lesson has repeatedly been to lean into love, not fear. I think I have a bit of an anxious attachment style, especially in a “talking” phase of a relationship or when I don’t exactly know what to expect. I’m like, “hello,,, where are the rules please??” I hate the idea of not knowing where I am at with someone and inadvertently hurting them. It is a worry that actually consumes me. If you’re someone I consider to be one of my people, it kills me to imagine hurting you, especially by accident. 

After talking to some friends, I think this rush of worry is definitely something the feminine (femme-identifying) collective bears much of the brunt of when new relationships are forming. We worry so much, “will they accept me?” “Will they text me back?” “Will they ask me on another date?” “Will they be hurt if I go on other dates in the meantime?” WHAT WE SHOULD be worrying about is if WE WANT another date with them, if we would want to be with that person—not for some imagined potential or dreamt up future we might have with them—for who they are as we already know them to be. My idol, Tinx, recently summed this up (with beautiful timing I might add) in her Reverse Box Theory post. Not everyone immediately gets a spot in your dating box, ladies! You are WHOLE and BEAUTIFUL and of course they’d be lucky to date you!!! 

When the changing tides of my life feel rocky enough to give me seasickness, I hope I can pursue tactics that actually help qualm my anxiety. I need to practice getting away from my phone and investing in myself—finding love inside of me and not searching for it outside of me. There is not one single thing (or man) here holding me back from joy and living my best life. I am the only thing holding myself back. So I’m releasing. I am diving into the water, trusting the current, and believing in my own capabilities to swim. Practice makes perfect. Well, practice makes progress. And that’s all I can ask for. 

With love, Fi