A Place in the World

I feel like I'm losing my place in the world. Which isn't saying much because my place is filled in very lightly. I step into my path with such trepidation I barely leave a footprint. Some call this cowardice. I call it caution. I want to be able to retreat softly, just incase the footprint is too big and something I will never be able to fill. I don't want to fail. And so trying just becomes another struggle.

I would love to feel like a pioneer. I'd love to push past the terror of the impending future and just do it. Do...something. Leave my mark, no matter the size. I'd love to look back on my place in the world when I am old and wrinkled and of no real use to anyone and say to my grandchildren who are filled with the energy of youth that I did something back then. They'd roll their eyes and nod and pretend to care but it wouldn't matter to me. I'd be able to look back at that point in my life when I didn't just settle for whatever rolled my way and I pushed forward, even though I was so scared my heart felt like it would burst.

But right now I'm off balance. One foot is right on the line that will lead me to...I don't know. But the other foot is holding back. Too afraid to step forward. Too fearful of the fall that may be waiting on the other side.

And yet...I feel like I want to fall. Somehow I'm hopeful that if I do, I'll find wings on my back, ready to help me soar. And maybe it's not that I'm losing my place in the world, but I'm shifting from one place to another, finding a spot that is unique to me. I don't know. I hope so.

Anyway. I've been painting a lot and thinking about images in my mind that I'd like to paint. There's cages and feathers and flight and falling and shattering in my vision. It feels much like what I'm going through, only in a different medium. There are words in my head that seek a page to be written on and I'll oblige it because I'm so damn tired of worrying about whether the words are good enough in the first place. It's a cycle that I need to break, this constant worrying and stalling and worrying some more. It's a dance that I don't enjoy, one that never keeps its rhythm, only hiccups and coughs and falters along the way. For a moment at least, I'd like to not give a damn about my worth and just do the things I enjoy, regardless of criticism.

I want to plant my feet in the path of my choice and watch as I bloom. Two feet on the line. Ready to fall or soar.