Despite my dislike of circuses and heights, I have always seen the events in my life as a series of trapeze acts. I am standing on the platform high above the ground when suddenly an invisible hand pushes me off into dark space with nothing but the swinging bar to hang on to. Usually, I can see the next bar moving towards me, perfectly timed so I can reach it easily. But occasionally, I can’t see anything ahead of me at all, nothing to grasp, nothing to leap for. The bar beneath my fingers slips from my hold, and I find myself airborne in spacious darkness–the unknown, the unfamiliar. My response is to scream in panic as I tumble and grope for something to cling to. Despite my thrashing about, the next bar always appears, not exactly on my timing or to take me in the direction I thought I was going, but I am always helped across the gap.
Now, at the midpoint of my life and with a busy home full of growing children, I find myself more and more often being pushed into the void without a handhold. I have come to realize that I have two options: I can close my eyes and holler until my throat is raw or I can see this as an opportunity to learn to fly. So often in the past, because of my panicked state, I have missed the beauty of soaring through space, and the force of grace that has kept me aloft.
That is what this blog is about. Learning to fly into the unknown, and opening my eyes to the wonders that surround me, sustain me, and hold me up in the darkness. Weekly I will gather up bits and pieces of life and record them in words and an occasional photo. I am hoping this accounting will help me (and you) trust in our power to fly so the only sound we will make will be the scream of sheer joy as we navigate the unknown.
Owens Valley, California