What happens when fear and courage start getting along?

Day 629. Spoiler alert: You grow new superpowers.

6 months ago, I sat in this exact spot, watching the evening sun dip behind the little wooden hut at the bottom of the hill. It doesn’t feel too long ago, but life felt different.

Everything around me was covered in crystal white snow. The world quiet, my breath warm against the icy, cold air.

I remember that evening fondly.

A sliver of sky framed between buildings lined along a narrow alley. Little explosions of colour peeking out from behind wispy white clouds. My head tipped back against the chair, cold beer hitting my warm lips.

It was a blissful balance of hot and cold, ice and vapour, tension and ease.

Today, I am here once more, staring at the same sliver of a different evening sky. What has changed since?

My eyes linger among the greens and my mind buzzes to the songs of summer cicadas. I am spotting new colours along the streets, wondering if they were there all along, hidden beneath winter’s white.

It is nice to return. To notice the pieces that have shifted, and the parts unchanging.

Who am I am growing into in this new season of my life? Have I been kind towards her?

I am still scared.

It surprises me every day to find out just how persistent my fears are, and how deep they run inside me.

I think about what it might be like if I were unapologetically audacious. If I committed to becoming more confident and just chose to trust myself.

What would I do if I allowed myself the possibility of failure? What would external judgement look and feel like now that I have chosen to walk my own walk? Would the judgement of others still bother me the way it used to?

Sometimes I get this recurring nightmare of my fears ballooning so big that they take my feet off the ground, my heart pulled towards the sky. Anytime now I fear the bubble might burst, and I am left collecting my own broken pieces off the ground.

But then I wake up and remember that at least in our world, the rules of physics apply. That for every force in nature, there is an equal and opposing reaction.

I am in equilibrium.

There might be fear, but there is also courage.

To have ventured out on my own is one thing, but to have chosen to stay out here with nothing truly concrete except a vague idea of life’s possibilities is another. I know that for all the crap I give myself about being afraid, I have also consistently chosen courage.

I am resisting the urge to settle for a half-baked answer, to cling to certainty just because life feels shaky. I am moving slowly, allowing my story to develop as I grow, instead of holding onto to old, hand-me-down scripts that no longer serve me in my current season in life.

Slow isn’t for everyone, but slow works for me. Slow has helped me to see the tall walls and high mountains in my way. It has helped me find steel to chip away at these impossible dreams.

Slow has created space between my decisions and my shakiness. It has allowed me to see between love and fear, and given me the freedom to make choices that encourage playfulness through it all.

I try to remember that life’s unknowns aren’t scary black holes, but merely a story waiting to unfold. Decisions won’t trap you into endless miserable forevers, but are simply hypotheses casted based on your present knowledge.

Allowing fun and joy to lead the way.

“Be patient,” the winds whispered this morning.

Sitting by the window’s ledge, I looked out at the vast green mountains beyond, listening to the mountains’ call. When life is so still, I can hear myself clearly – my dreams, my ideas, my curiosities.

Finding this fruitful medium of self-expression has been an unending joy. I look forward to my days starting with pen hitting paper, a full day spent observing and documenting light, then ending my days with my body easing into the lyrical movements of an ancient practice.

I am lucky.

Seeking out life this way is fun and thrilling. I accept that nothing is permanent. Not this present state of mind, not my beliefs in its current form, and certainly not my current circumstances.

Life will happen as it does, and things will change again. I will want different things in time, and I will allow those new desires to take shape in my life then.

But for now, this is enough. In fact, more than enough.

To know that I’ve taken myself from who I was then to who I am now, is like discovering I’ve learnt to breathe underwater.

I might be swimming in unchartered territory. But for now, I am finding breath where there once was none, and that feels like fear, courage and joy, all muscled into one great superpower.