It is a grip that is all too familiar to me.
A grip that grasps the kind of control that literally weakens spontaneity; that keeps intuition locked behind the door where passion, power, and courage live. My IT bands begin to quiver, my neck grows stiff, and my heart, well, it knocks loudly, asking ever so gently for a key that could perhaps, maybe, unlock the door.
My stomach twirls, my posture diminishes and tightly-wound knots find my spine, wrapping themselves together like a perfect spool of yarn. I’m told to let go, to release, to soften; to find freedom in uncertainty and refuge in throwing the desire to control my life out into vanishing air.
I know that the tighter I hold on, the less I actually have to hold onto. Giving up control means opening invisible doors, leading to paths that only living—letting go and letting be—can manifest. It seems ironic that the more I try to control, the less in control I actually feel. The tighter the grip gets, the stronger the fear becomes.
Living in fear is like riding a bike with training wheels forever; eventually, we get to a point where the training wheels keep us from participating in that biathlon we’ve always dreamed of completing. And just as control in fact weakens the muscle of the soul, fear keeps me stagnant, steady, seemingly secure.
A comfort zone is nothing but an easily misleading trapped door, one that disguises itself as safe, smart, and comfortable. Yet, for me, there is nothing more dangerous than to remain stagnant, inside a bubble of fear, where doubt and anxiety are fed.
Inside the “comfort” zone, I feel a consistent craving to escape; growing more and more uncomfortable with time.
Loosening the grip and letting go are acts of strength and courage that could break down any door and pop any bubble, that make my comfort zone seem like a hostel compared to the five-star hotel of life and of love, where nothing is known and everything is possible.