In which Our Hero feels offal.
Just to the left of my navel, I learn a truth.
Not about facts or the world,
but about how a topic feels to me
I think this is what people mean when they say “follow your heart” or “speak from the heart”.
It troubled me for many years — still does — because that place is not my heart. It’s at least five inches below my heart, and two to the outside.
We also advise “trust your gut”. Is the place I found not my heart but my gut? Am I misusing each location for its maximally effective purpose? Follow your heart in love; trust your gut in business?
After casting about for a writing theme a few days ago, a friend suggested I write as the ideal version of me would.
Hemingway says write the most true sentence. Then the next true sentence.
The truth is, I feel scared. Not all of me, but a good 80%. I’m pushing and shoving toward the biggest financial decision of my life. I’ve capped my downside risk at an acceptable amount. I’ve run the numbers by family and friends more risk-averse than me. The answer is go.
Courage is not the absence of fear. It’s action while in the presence of fear. In this case, it’s encircling the fear with my flabby squeezers and hugging it while I jump the two of us jump into an abyss.
Most of the time, the bungee cord holds. Take a situation that would otherwise be frightening: if you add safety, it becomes thrilling.
The fear is not me. The fear is not anything. Both it and I are transient (that’s a pun).
I see why people turn to religion in times of stress.
God is what we call the experience of being healed. There’s something addictively reassuring – especially in our most fearful moments – in believing someone is looking out for you, sending positive outcomes your way.
Let us run then, you and I
As the sun surmounts the sky
The icy clovers frost with dew
Let us dive then: me and you.
I fear nothing, though fear is present.
Fear is my friend. I stand atop its shoulders.
Together, our future rolls out a carpet to greet us.
Julian Wise 