Strong Enough to Commit

When I left Washington last month, I promised myself that I would figure out life by the time August 10th rolled around. That would give me four weeks to travel, enjoy time with family and friends, and apply for jobs. Silly me.I keep forgetting that I have absolutely no control over the timeline of my life.

Sure, I did manage to go on my long road trip where I saw places so beautiful my heart stopped. Yes, I got to be present for my nephew’s first day and week of life, and I’ve enjoyed the time spent with friends. I’ve even applied for those jobs and had an interview. I re-did my room, helped my mom’s friend set up her classroom for the year, and I got connected with some amazing work happening at a local non-profit agency.

I guess for everything that I’ve stated for my goals and accomplishments for the last month, I’ve committed the sin of omission by refusing to acknowledge what is going on underneath all of these fun things. Adventurous and ambitious as I consider myself, I am afraid. I’m afraid of committing to this city that I called home for 18 years, the one that I know could so desperately use my time and energy and passion, education, experience and passion. I’m afraid to commit to the city where I first fell in love, where I’m afraid there’s no one here to connect with in the way I long to connect. I’m afraid to commit to a gym because I get frustrated with my exercise and eating habits so easily. Mostly, though, I’m afraid to commit because I don’t want to put at my strength into something and see it fail.

This fear of commitment is something that I’ve held as a close friend for the past two years, since the break up, since the annual regional moves started, and since I realized that my lifelong career dream of teaching was so much harder than it looked. This month, this week, this day, I feel like it is important for me to let go of my fears and commit to this city. To give myself for six months or a year to give without expecting, to love without expectation of its reciprocation, and to push myself to move beyond my fear and accomplish that which I am afraid to attempt.

I feel like I’m back at Redwoods National Park, staring into fog trying to see the beauty around me, but  seeing only small glimpses of the path and giant trees in front of me. Time to cross the bridge of fear, to step up and see what this next year has to offer. Image