She set aside her perfectly scheduled plans and neatly curated ideas.

She set down everything she was supposed to do—everything she was supposed to be.

She kissed expectations a grand goodbye under the ripe, midsummer moon.

She said no to frantically attending every exhausting obligation, etched in gold pen, in her black leather day planner.

She risked making people mad.

It was dangerous—really dangerous—but it was only dangerous to the bullsh*t that still lingered in her life.

There was no more room for bullsh*t—-she had become unarguably allergic to it.

There was only room for truth. The absolute truth. The bitter, beautiful, untarnished truth.

She let go of needing to know.

She took a ginormous breath and stepped softly forward—her body dangled precariously in mid-air on the glittering razor edge of the unknown.

One foot was planted in the torn, tear-stained pages of past. One foot reached boldly towards the budding stardust hope of the future.

Her heart hung in the balance, split-open, fully immersed in the whirling intensity of this moment…

Was she scared?

Was she totally f*cking terrified?

Yes.

So what? 

She could no longer afford to let fear stop her.

She could no longer stand to ask those tired, gnawing questions that never got her anywhere, except more anxious and more tortured and more confused and more stuck.

Is this the right thing?

Would she get hurt?

Would she mess up?

Could she handle it?

She was done overwhelming herself with relentless swarming concerns. She was finished trying to figure it all out with her mind.

The only way to know—was to jump in. To scrape her knees. To get her hands dirty.

For she had spent far too much of her life tiptoeing meticulously around the edges, being oh-so-careful, preparing vigilantly for even the tiniest details to go wrong, worrying endlessly about spilling the ink of imperfection on her crisply ironed silk shirts.

It wasn’t time to be reckless, but it was time to be courageous.

It was time for the roarin’ flame of courage that burned belligerently inside her soul to swiftly singe away those old anxious thoughts of stuck-on doubt. She didn’t need ’em anymore.

For she was no precious porcelain doll—she was a flesh and blood, juicy-hearted, strong, smart, real badass woman.

She could handle whatever life threw at her—and deep down, she knew it.

It was time to honor that strength—her strength. Her unshakable ability to survive, flourish and thrive—in the best of times and in the utter worst of times.

And it was time…

Time to feel the buzzing waters of life lick and kiss her skin.

To make those mistakes she needed to make.

To crash into the trembling arms of fate.

To take a f*cking chance.

To love.

To stumble.

To fall.

To fly elegantly too.

She let go of needing to know.

For once, her curiosity outweighed all else. It eviscerated even the stubbornest layers of fear. Her insatiable bellowing thirst for passion and joy and adventure and exploration engulfed the tinny, hollow sound of any lingering doubts…

So she jumped—yes—she jumped with a raw smile stamped proudly upon her face. And hell, maybe that jump was just a baby step—but it didn’t matter.

She was finally moving forward, for real.

And she trusted.

She didn’t trust that things would be perfect, no—but she trusted that she’d learn what she needed to learn. She trusted that she could handle it all—happy, sad, hard, wonderful and every damn thing in between.

Because life is innately mysterious, a messy masterpiece in the making, a perplexing puzzle—being woven and unveiled one precious moment at a time.

There is no way around that ultimate mystery. No hiding from it. No denying it. There is only surrendering to it. Only bowing down to the gushing waters of the great and mystical unknown.

So she did.

She surrendered.

Because she didn’t need to know.

All those fears, those details, the seemingly endless anxieties and lingering rivers of doubt—they didn’t matter.

What mattered is that she stepped forward—

With courage.

And curiosity.

She let go of needing to know.

And in that quiet, simple moment of sublime surrender—

She found her wings.

.

Author: Sarah Harvey

Image: Deviant art/sakiryildirim

Editor: Yoli Ramazzina