I was reminded this morning of something that I take for granted. Reaching. Reaching for the coffee cup on the top shelf of my cupboard. Reaching for the ceiling in yoga doing Triangle. Reaching for my dreams. I once was envious of anyone who could reach without hesitation. I now can reach for my mug in the morning without asking someone else to get it for me. I reach and I am aware but not always conscious of the metal in my back that feels like it is being torn away from my spine. That part has become my normal. And I am grateful that I can reach for myself. I am grateful that most of the time my body forgets what living without pain feels like so that I am not reminded. Instead, I work with how my body, my back, feels now.
I get lazy in yoga. My arms sometimes feel jellied from the day and I go through the motion without thinking about opening my heart and lungs. I am lucky to have my arms. They need to reach.
Dreams. Certainly I have them. To write a book. To fit into my skinny jeans. To become a wife of a husband who loves my flaws. To start my own company. To remain aware and never complacent. But I think on a day to day basis, I just get through the day. Routine is comforting and safe for me. But I dream for my future to become more of a risk taker.
I started a blog with a mission. I have failed. My mission was to step outside of my comfort zone, to try new things. In some ways, this blog forces me to step outside of my comfort zone because I share things that sometimes I would keep to myself. Fears that I am ashamed of. Thoughts that I think to insignificant to say aloud. But that is not enough. I need to reach. If I reach, I will without fail, fall. But I would be failing myself if I kept my arms at my side. I wouldn't grow. So, with you as my witness, I will reach for the stars, for the sky, and for the sweater tucked up behind my shoes in the back of my closet. Here goes...
