I have spent the better part of today dancing around the things that don’t get said. Or, in this case, written. I have written in my notebook, on my phone, on an ipad and now here, in bed beside my sleeping child. I have crafted phrases and lines and moved words around to get them just so. But I could not get them to fit, to settle onto the page. And none of them are ready for public consumption. They’re just not ready. But this feels like a copout. I feel like I am on top of the treetop pole and I just won’t jump.
When I was 19, I was hired to be a camp counselor at a fabulously hippie camp in Ithaca, New York. Part of our staff development training prior to the campers arrival was a “bonding” trip to a ropes course. I was uncomfortable and afraid of heights. Full disclosure, I was uncomfortable in a harness that was clearly designed to enhance my derrière (which I was constantly trying to avoid acknowledging even existed) and then haul said derriere up a pole with witnesses having an optimal vantage point. But I did put on the harness. And I did climb to the top of the pole. And then…I climbed back down. I couldn’t do it. I had gotten up there and raised my body to full standing height and all I needed to do was jump. Everyone was waiting. And cheering. And watching. But I couldn’t actually let my feet leave the tenuous safety of the pole and trust that the skilled counselors below and fate would ensure my survival. I couldn’t do it. So I climbed down. I failed.
I am almost 49 years old tonight and I still feel like I’m on top of that pole. So, I’ll leave the title of the unpublished blog here, to remind me that tomorrow I can try again. Tomorrow I can jump.
The blog that still hasn’t been written: ““I need inspiration…Partners.”