Life is fragile

Everything in the past 6 months has radically changed. I talked about the initial changes here in this post, but the aftermath and the tremors from this massive earthquake continue to roll in (and they have been blessings, make no mistake). If you took a picture of my life in the earlier part of this year and compared it to today, the two people would shake hands cordially and if determined to be related at all, would be distant cousins at best. It's as if a rebirth has occurred. I remember praying one thoughtful day not too long ago after a conversation with a friend at which point I had essentially relinquished whatever foolish, ego-based control I thought I had over the universe and told her that I was ready and willing to have my world rocked. I was ready and willing to have everything and anything change in honor of the process, of the person, I wanted and needed to become.

She answered.

But the lessons resided as much in the actual change themselves as they did in the frequency of all of this newness. There wasn't a very long shelf life to these interim periods between who I was and on my way to becoming.

Clients flooded my new business, speaking invitations rolled in, more and more people wanted to know me with huge demand for our Airbnb listing and endless travel.

And the people that just continue to filter in and out of my life like the ebb and flow of the morning ocean tide...

I gave a talk yesterday at TedxAsylumHill about the importance of innovation as a verb, not a noun, as an action as opposed to something we contemplate. The main message of the speech was that it's our work in life to climb our mountains in search of truth and to bring the lessons from those journeys into our everyday lives. It isn't the achieved goal that brings us wisdom, but the application of the lessons learned on the way to getting there.

And as I sit here and think about all that has happened, I am in awe at just how fragile life truly is.

My sister texted me yesterday to tell me that our neighbor growing up had passed away. He was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer and was given 6 months to live.

He died one week later.

And I'm in awe and in tears. Not because I knew this man particularly well, but because it validates and reinforces everything I've learned this past year.

I suppose that is the main reason I felt compelled to share this story in the first place as it also acted as the primary impetus for my Tedx talk.

We believe we have all the time in the world and yet over the past 6 months, I have been continuously shown that life changes in the blink of an eye.

Literally.

Your friends, the status of your relationships (good and bad), your job, your body, your health.

It is all so incredibly fragile.

We spend the majority of our lives concerned about what others are doing if only to compare ourselves to them and see if we measure up.

We waste opportunities out of fear and greed and low self-esteem.

We speak with anger and forget to reconcile with love.

And we fear death without ever truly celebrating life.

Life is the only real gift we've been given. All miracles thereafter stem from this one fact: that you are alive.

I feared living a bold life. I hid from the "cliff jumping" I needed to do, not really believing I could handle or even want the change that would be ushered in, because after all, I didn't even know what I wanted.

So I hung out in the grey zone of indecision for longer than I care to recount.

And my soul weakened.

My eyes lost their glow.

And my heart hurt, weighed down from a lack of oxygen.

With death so certain, why is life even considered a choice?

Why do we put off our dreams, our families, our desires, our loved ones for anything else?

Our health?

Our sanity?

Our freedom?

Our life work lays in climbing countless mountains and yet so many of just sit and ponder in toil at the bottom.

I could be dead in a week and you damn well better believe that if that's the case, I will have gone down living the life I chose, the one where my heart couldn't be any bigger in that moment, where my truth was held in the highest regard and that I could say, "I fuckin' did it."

What about you?