A lesson in fear, transcendence, and kick ass boots.

A few weeks ago, give or take a month and a half, it was a very typical day and I get a text or a phone call or something from Karen. "There's this band thing such and such date and I need you."

There's always a band thing and somehow I'm always needed. Being my classic commitaphobe self, I give her a classic 'yeah, that'll probably work' and go about my day.

The next day comes "Can you make it to this band thing? I need you." This went on for a few days before I got the impression this might be something bigger than she was letting on. . . so I inquire for more details.

"It's a motorcycle ride for Wounded Warriors and I got guys willing to take us on the back of their bikes."

"What?? Where? Will there be highways? What if I fall? Do we know these people? Are you crazy? etc."

"I've never either. It will be fun."

I knew if I didn't talk myself out of it, if I didn't run all the scenarios, if I didn't picture being run across the asphalt like fresh mozzarella to a cheese grater that I would be peachy. I just had to get myself in the space between my thoughts and push all the negative out is all. People do this all the time and are fine! Probability dictates that I would be too. Focus on that, perhaps. Or start praying for rain.

The days inch closer and I'm half thinking about it, half going about my life. I tell a few friends who pretty much all think I'm bailing. Raghu, a drinking buddy of mine, had said that it was tough enough getting me to ski for the first time and though he could feel that I truly wanted to do it, he also felt that when it came day of that my spirit would be willing but my anxiety would push me to bail (like snowboarding) or would turn on me and make me sick (like skydiving, sinus infection, 102 fever). I agreed with him and realized that, although somewhat shameful, what he said was shared with the utmost love. I also told myself that I was so tired of being that person that his shining a light on my past 'failures' only made me want this success that much more. He smiled wisely and returned to his beer.

In the following days Karen and I ran into some guy at a bar who thought it would be great to tell us horror stories as we prepared for our maiden voyage. "Wear leather so when you fall you don't lose all your skin, and big boots so you don't chew up your ankles, and make sure you have a full face shield because even if you don't fall rocks will hit you in the face, and practice sitting still or you will fall over. . ." I chose at this point to bite my tongue and pray for rain. . .

It didn't rain.

It's the morning of and I am super excited. I'm up early, workday early on a Sunday. I've got these adorable sunglasses as to not take a rock to the eye, my leather jacket and a cute sling bag. I recall this awesome pair of boots I used to love but got too small around my calves at one point. I dig them out and put them on (I'm not sure if I remembered why I retired them) and as I zipped them I knew I was ready for this. I'm sure to some this doesn't seem like a big deal, and that's more than cool! Introduce me to new things to conquer! To me, this was big, I was ready to do something I've wanted to do for ages.

Karen follows me out, the GPS fails several times, it starts to drizzle as we realize we might not make it. I'm heartbroken. And in that moment I realized that it was time. It was finally something I would be wholeheartedly disappointed not to do. We drove 'em like we stole 'em and made it to the starting site.

vrooooooom vroom vrooooom vroooom vrooom. The Earth shook beneath my feet and my heart followed the tempo. I'm introduced to Ron, who is gracious enough to let a newbie scream in his ear for 45 minutes to an hour. He is, in my estimation, is about 6 1/2 feet tall and 400 pounds of solid tattooed motorcycle man. I take a deep gulp and wonder what he must think looking down at me with my huge goofy sunglasses, my blonde pigtails, my attempt at biker clothes and Sheamus's puppy head sticking out of my bag.

"It's my first ride." I smile.

He offers me his hand to help me onto the bike. His touch is confident and reassuring yet paradoxically gentle. I asked him where I should hold on and grabbed hold of him before he could answer "the seat, if you'd like". And off we went. I felt like I had been on the back of his bike riding these roads for years.

I believe in all paths to the Divine. I'm blessed that I typically find it in some fairly unorthodox places. I found this moment going over the Pulaski (I think) feeling the wind on my face, looking out at the water, and thinking about nothing but just trying to somehow absorb as much as I could of how weightless and free I felt in that moment. I could feel the leather seat, the lining of my jacket, the texture of flannel clad Ron, the padding of my helmet, the lightness of the air, the wear and tear on the road without analysis or thought. It all just was. He looked back in the mirror to check up on me and I felt him relax a little after seeing what I imagine was reminiscent of a child's smile beaming across my face, pig tails in the breeze.

He said when we arrived that I did extremely well for a first time rider that I didn't shift my weight, or seem anxious, or hold on too tight, or any of the tell tale signs. I was honored by the compliment. He told me I now had a great story for all of my friends. And so I do.

And so I do!

Share Your Divinity,

Kimberly

Coming back to center

OK, so it has been a while. I own that I fell off track in the middle, came off my meditation, my readings, my me time, my progress, all of it. I just put it on coast for a few weeks. What's important is that I'm back, and even if this makes 71 days become a few weeks longer, it's an important lesson to learn that I can fall, get up, brush off, and luckily make a couple of adjustments and start again. And so I shall.

Today was an amazing day! My meditation this morning was my first of a bunch dealing with Surrender. This morning I thought about my walls and how I can get them lowered safely without any real casualties. I've done a little bit of talking about this in a round about way, but one of the big walls I have protects me from embarrassment and shame. I have a lot of anxiety surrounding the controlled exposure of my faults. I think that's somewhat natural. My flaws are mine to give and I work very hard to not air out anyone else's dirty laundry, so that respect should be reciprocal. But I was going about this all wrong though, because it seemed the higher I tried to build this wall the more shame I felt. As it turns out, vandals have been kicking my lower bricks right out from under me. That could have been catastrophic. But I was building up so tall that I never looked around me, until it was almost too late. Yielding nothing is just as devoid of control as yielding everything. I'm going to allow a wider range of people to see me for who I really am. I have to. I have to surrender that I am safe and that the right people won't use me as a weapon against me. And if I invite the wrong people in, if I'm attacked with myself, I have to just pick up my things and go as soon as I recognize it. If I get very hurt, I have recently learned how to work human crutches. (Love you, guys) No shame for being wrong, no embarrassment for the past, I have to dust myself off no matter what the interim from peace and health and keep on my journey with dignity. I have renewed my commitment to my health and my livelihood, to my quest for bliss, to a love so deep and abundant my knees barely support me from all the weakness, to friends who love me unconditionally and who are willing to shout that to the world, especially on days where my own faith in that waivers, for people who I can allow in and not have trepidations that pictures of my messy apartment will end up on the 6 o'clock news and for loved ones who won't point and laugh if it does happen.

Today, that is my surrender.

And thank you for everything!

Namaste,

Kimberly