Curiosity

I don’t know when I first felt it, but it was an underlying flood of curiosity that shook my core.  I remember the lack of understanding, the worry and doubt; it’s like it was yesterday.  For as long as I can remember, I have been that girl—the wild one at heart with the pangs of uncertainty.  Uncertainty about love, about work, about myself.  Who was I at the bottom of all of this?  And at the end of the day, who would survive? 

I took many paths that I didn’t know where they would lead—a tennis team, an out of state school, a new city, and a law degree.  At the end of each of them, though, and what connected each piece was security.  I was good at tennis, so why not continue?  I had a team to jump on to, so why not a big school out of state?  I had a boyfriend waiting, so why not a new city?  And I got accepted, so why not law school? 

I think I realized over time, though, that sometimes you have to do the unimaginable.  The aching heart that craves new things needs to be heard.  That pounding inside that screams for attention, yet I want to know I won’t fail. 

I still feel the sadness, the quivers, the pain.  The fear of what I may never have.  I can feel the tears streaming down my face, and I can feel the self doubt covering my being.  I cry out for an answer, for a moment of stillness, yet I cant breathe.  The choking, the sobbing, the incredible stabbing—the moment of failure seething through me. 

And I wake.  The reality hits me, and I get back up.  And I tell myself it’s a blessing, because what else can it be called?  A blessing sounds better than failure, and at least my gratitude can lead to acceptance, to lessons learned, and to new beginnings. 

That fight or flight instinct took over, and I fought.  Like the badass I am, I fought like hell.  And I clawed and I scratched and I pour myself outward, and I succeeded.  That’s who I am.  A champion.  A fighter, a winner, and a hero all in one. 

But I still catch myself sinking within those enormous moments of certainty, of security and of stability.  I’m complacent, but at least I know; I’m bored, but at least its something; I’m afraid, but at least I’m safe.  And all the while I want to spread my wings and sore.  To fight this urge to feel safe, and secure, and certain.  And yet to know I can be safe, and secure, and certain just because of who I am.  Because I am a fighter, and a clawer, and a winner. 

And I sit, and I stare, and I wonder.  Do I have what it takes to outsmart my temporary being?  Do I have the desire to overcome this place of constancy?  And if I do, will I fall?