She was not ready to leap—to take a chance—to go off solo and spread her wild wings under a blossoming cherry tree.
She was not ready for change—for the gritty grueling chaos of transformation or for the naked truth she needed to face. She was not ready to question everything that made up her neat, pretty little world, to let go of the painful darkness of the past or to embrace the excited, bird-like calls of the future that smelled so subtly sweet, like pale purple lilacs in the air.
She wasn’t ready.
But life no longer cared if she was ready—because it was time.
It was time to do all those things she always said she wanted to do, but never actually did—the things that sparked her soul to life, rendered her heart breathless and gave her the tingliest goosebumps all over.
It was time to splatter the world with the blazin’ neon colors of her heart, to travel to faraway exotic lands with glistening turquoise seas and breathtaking bright orange wildflowers and be exactly herself, without any goddamn apology. Yes, it was time to do all those wild, wistful, wonderful things she dreamed about so vividly, but never actually attempted because she thought she wasn’t capable or worthy.
Life no longer cared if she was ready.
Besides, “ready” was a luxury she couldn’t afford to wait for.
She had spent too many hours, seconds, minutes and days living in a bubble—a cocoon, a black hole—protecting herself from failure, from getting her heart broken and from the harshness and pain of the world. She played it small and safe, trying so hard to numb the roarin’ whispers of wildness surging through her soul—trying so hard to be okay with living a grey, uninspired life that didn’t suit her at all.
By protecting herself so fiercely from disappointment, sadness and pain—she also shielded herself from beauty. From the soaring heights of love and the glorious buds of inspiration and sweet summer breezes of blossoming possibility—and she was so thirsty for it all again.
She wasn’t ready to leap—to taste life fully—but life no longer cared if she was ready, because it was time.
The moon pulled her close, the stars twinkled—winking at her seductively, licking their silver sparkling lips and cheering her on wildly. The breeze pulled at her skin with ripe, tiger-like ferocity—it was time.
It was time to jump into the drivers seat and take control of her life, time to say all the things she had bottled up inside for centuries, time to live boldly, beautifully, heroically—with the wind sweeping through her hair and the sun’s wild warmth urging her forward with proud golden rays.
It was time to own who she really was, and live through the juiciness of her heart and the exploding gloriousness of her fiery soul.
Was she scared?
Hell yes, she was scared—she was absolutely crushed with fear. Her breath rattled, and tears leaked out from her every pore. Her heart filled with anxiety like a leaking sea of ink—and troubled, torturous thoughts rattled around inside her busy brain like candy.
Would she fail? Would she f*ck up? Would everyone just laugh at her?
Through a parade of raining tears, she realized that anything would be better than staying stuck where she was. Failure would be juicier, far more dynamic than this vast colorless wasteland. F*cking up would be an improvement over feeling so dead and apathetic inside. Getting laughed at would feel far more delicious than hiding.
Fear gripped her throat and tried to silence her.
She wasn’t ready—but it didn’t matter, because the only thing scarier than change was if things stayed the same.
Because she couldn’t take any more bullsh*t, toxic, self critical, self-loathing, crappy relationships, holding herself back, hiding from life under the covers, blocking her own innate ability to shine. She couldn’t stand this suffocating, halfhearted lie of a life that didn’t speak to her soul—an existence where she didn’t feel ignited, where her heart was desiccating every day, moving further and further away from the spark of luscious truth that lived deep in her belly.
She wasn’t ready—she was shaking, trembling, wobbling in fear, buried in a salty pile of tears. But—she was just frustrated enough with how things were to take an epic chance.
She would never be ready—the perfect moment was an illusion, a lover that would never call her name.
It was time—now.
It was time to shed the ashen pain of the past and take a giant step forward, time to blast through the brittleness of all this fear and see what sparkling ruby treasures were waiting for her on the other side. It was time to embrace the roarin’ river of epic beauty hiding inside her, to bow down to her sensitive heart, to love her empathic soul, to own her glittering talents and share them proudly and poetically with the world.
It was her moment, her second—to shine, to radiate, to blossom, to be free, to be a radical force of love, a powerful beacon of light, just like she had always longed to be.
She wasn’t ready—but she leapt anyway. She had an epiphany of blind faith.
She took the chance of a lifetime—
Into her own arms.
It was a moment so soft, so warm and so surprising, it shook her to the core.
It was a moment so overflowing with compassion—so drop dead beautiful—it left her in a sea of self-love and tears.
This was it, she thought. This is everything I need.
And so it was—it was the start to the most extraordinary adventure of all time.
It was the start of her life.
Author: Sarah Harvey
Editor: Yoli Ramazzina
Photo: Flickr/Sarah Zucca