February 29, 2024
What I mean by leap is being on the edge of a cliff, being one of those people wearing a flying squirrel outfit, arms spread wide. Leaping catching the wind currents, flying. And somehow, miraculously not plunging to the hard rocky ground below.
What I mean by leap is that game, leap frog. One person squatting down and another, gently putting their hands on the back of the crouching person and hopping, leaping, over them. Then that frog jumping up and repeating the hop/leap. And on and on.
What I mean by leap is that saying, Leap and the net will appear. This reminds me of a teacher staff development I went to years ago. It was one of those trust building/ropes courses. I remember being up on a platform looking down at a group of people in two rows facing each other, arms locked together like a ladder on its side. I was supposed to turn around and fall back into their human net of arms. In those days, (and sometimes still) I felt the other shoe was going to drop any minute so trusting people to catch me was questionable.
Everyone was smiling up at me, waiting. Some part of me said, okay and I turned around, took a breath, and fell back like a kid in deep snow about to make a snow angel. I landed in arms that held me. No shoes had dropped. Just me, like a human feather.
One more thing from that day. My other mission was to climb up a pole, another ladder-type thing, walk across a log, thirty feet up, to the other side. I was hooked to a safety rope, maybe wearing a helmet too. I can still see myself pleading with David, our soft-spoken leader, that I didn't think I could do it. I was a person riddled with anxiety pretty much every day. It had inhabited me and wouldn't leave.
David looked me in the eye and said, "I hear you. Trust me. Start climbing."
I climbed and walked across the log high up in the air. My human net people were smiling up at me, again. I remember, vividly in my body, as I write this - walking across the log high up in the air and making it to the other side. A shoe didn't drop. I didn't hit the hard ground. And, as soon as I was back on the ground, I wanted to do it again. I was the kid, jumping off the edge of the pool landing safely in my father's arms.
I remember that.
Just doing it.
Leaping.
This past month, maybe longer, I've been feeling a restlessness to leap. I have zero idea what that means. I can't force it, or figure it out. I don't know. All in right time.
I do know this, for sure. You won't find me in squirrel gear on the edge of a cliff.
Namaste, lovelies.
XO Bets
