This morning I was thinking that it’s been a year since I moved into my sweet, little, ramshackle beach place. (Emphasis on the shack.)
And about how scared I was to sign the lease. And about how, before I even let myself go look for a place, I decided I needed a steadier freelance gig and immediately went out and got myself one. (Funny how things show up when you’re absolutely resolute.)
The day I got the gig, I drove down to this neighborhood, found my place, and the next day I signed the lease.
A month later, I wanted out of the gig. Four months later, I quit.
Turned out, I didn’t really need the gig.
Not anymore.
This pattern is awfully familiar. It reminds me of a post that I’m always wanting to link to, except I haven’t written it yet. It’s about how I left my my corporate career — I thought I needed a plan, a foolproof one. Heh.
Once I had just such a plan, I left. Once I left, I scrapped the plan.
What I’m taking from all this…
I could try to pretend that making changes doesn’t scare me. I could try to convince myself that I don’t need security or stability.
It wouldn’t be true, though. Trying to squash the fear wouldn’t make it any easier to make that leap. The squash feels more like quicksand, pushing forward and then being sucked back. And the change I want just looms on the horizon, always the same distance away. Far.
What if I could take the pressure off of finding a permanent fix? What if instead, when I’m craving a change, I could give myself permission to set up a little scaffolding? Just enough to feel safe enough.
Having that support could actually make leaping possible. Also more fun. And more immediate.
But now that I’m aware of this pattern, will I still mistake the scaffolding for the permanent fix? I wonder if I’ll remember, even as I’m putting it up, that it might come right back down again.
