I fell out of a lot of habits this year. I don’t quite know how it happened, really. It was gradual, I think. One day then another and suddenly we’re here. I’m despondent and directionless and it’s uncomfortable. Rising from a fall is much, much harder than I anticipated. Putting the pieces back together after a full on breakdown is messy and painful and, well, humbling. So. Very. Humbling.
It’s safe to say that 2018 is nearly over. I had big plans, y’all. Big. Plans. I just didn’t expect to spend so much time repairing myself. Mending my heart, refreshing my mind, reshaping my vision. It was all so very time consuming, and I can’t say with certainty if I’m done yet. I can’t say much with certainty these days, I’m coming to learn. “I feel like I let myself down this year,” I confessed to a friend recently. I feel like I ran out of time. Sometimes knowing what you want and not committing to the choice to make it happen is worse than not knowing at all. I chose not to show up. That’s hard to admit, but it’s true. But the year isn’t over yet. Not yet, my friends.
So I started running again. I laced up my shoes and out the door I went. Headphones in, I started down a path that isn’t as familiar as it should be. The pavement beneath my feet should be comfortingly familiar–we’ve lived in this house nearly two years. But the truth is, it’s not. I’ve chosen not to show up. And I’m learning that’s okay. Sometimes the right choice is to lay low, to let the work be done on your heart. To take quiet little breaths until you feel fueled and ready. And other times, the right choice is to just suck it up, lace up, and go. So I went. It was hard. It was uncomfortable. It was humbling.
I used to run 2-3 miles every other day and there I was struggling to make it through a 5 minute run cycle. The humbling discomfort of starting again. I used to do this well, and now I don’t. For me, this is a results of choices–a physical representation of giving up. For others, it might be a result of circumstances beyond your control. Whatever it is, swallowing the pride and accepting that discomfort isn’t easy.
I was in yoga last night when the woman next to me asked for help. “Hold on,” she said to me after some instruction. “I’ll get it.” I went back to my mat. “Would you believe just two years ago I was in a wheelchair? I used to be really good at this,” she said to me. “I’ll get there again.”
And there, right then, I cried on my mat. There it was. The message I needed to hear. “I’ll get there again.” She’s showing up. It’s hard and uncomfortable and humbling. But she’s showing up. So can I. And so can you.
It’s hard to admit you aren’t where you once were. I’ve had to swallow that bitter truth time and time again this year; and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to spit it out like a child with gross medicine. And honestly, sometimes I have. It’s never easy to put pride aside and start again. To accept being a beginner when you used to be a pro.
But beautiful things come from that journey, this I can promise you. You’ll learn and grow and change. You’ll get somewhere you couldn’t get to before. I shared this discomfort with a friend in a recent call. “It’s hard to accept that I’m back at the beginning,” I said to them. “I’d come so far, and I have nothing to show for it now.”
“That’s not true,” they said to me so very kindly. Once again, the words I needed to hear. “You have experience now. You’ve figured out what works and what doesn’t. You’re now equipped differently.”
And that, my friends, is some powerful truth.
So take a deep breath, swallow your pride, and start again.
I am.
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