Which is unreal.
I’ve been fighting with myself for days about this, trying to ignore what my instincts are telling me, because I’m scared to get it wrong.
“What if Ican’t get it wrong, though?” I ask the Cyclamen, wondering aloud. “What if I let myself choose this like I want to? What if…”
When I was a little girl, my aunt told me that ‘what if’ was a dangerous question, but a vital one. Dangerous because it challenges preconceptions, but also because it’s easy to cycle through circles without ever coming to any conclusions.
In that context, what if can keep you stuck in your head, but that’s only one side of the coin. That question is also vital because it holds the power to break cycles and open doors—first in the imagination, and then in the physical plane when we take action.
“Circle or spiral,” I muse aloud, cupping my hands around my mug. “I know which I will choose.”
Always the spiral.
We never end where we begin after all, and this beginning with Jake is fresh and new, and very right. Even if I can’t explain how I know that, it doesn’t change the truth of it.
“Jake is special,” I confess to the room at large. They don’t respond with words, but they’re all listening. I can feel their attention. Their energy.
From the plants on the shelves lining the room—the succulents and bromeliads, the ferns and the flowers—to the creeping fig and ivies forming a bower along the ceiling. Even the tropical plants by the windows and this little Cyclamen and Purple Peperomia in the reading alcove are listening, witnessing my growth the same way I do theirs.
“You all are the best,” I praise them, letting my gratitude fill my voice. “Thank you for listening. It’s just such a challenge. He’s so… perfect. For me anyway. And—”
I stop myself before naming a struggle aloud. There’s no need to speak what I don’t want into existence. Besides, I know what this is. I know what’s been keeping me stuck, fighting against what is so obviously true.
At the end of the day, it’s about trust.
“I’ve been asking the wrong question,” I admit as clarity dawns. “What if all this is real? And what if everything actually goesright?”
The weight of that hits me in the chest, and tears prick my eyes, asking to be shed. All this time, I’ve been wondering if I can trust Jake, when he’s shown me nothing but truth and kindness. Been nothing but patient with me.
He’s shown up every day with coffee and pastries, and gentle words and helpfulness. And he’s let me push him away, only to come back again and again, bringing me a treat or helping me with another mundane task without being asked. Steadfast. Kind. Loving.
Safe.
And I’ve kept pushing him away. Kept shutting down, even while I’m melting for him inside. All because I’d been asking the wrong questions.
It’s not about trusting Jake. I know I can do that. He’s only been in my life a few days, but I know unequivocally thathe is who he says he is and I am safe with him. He reminds me with every action, not just his words.
It’s myself I’ve not been trusting.
Suppressing my own instincts with a veneer of fear, because I focused on the wrong thing. It’s not about how bad things can get—I’ve already lived that. No, it’s about how good they can be.
“How good can I let them be?”
The Orchid on my coffee table sways in response to my new query, almost as though nodding their head in agreement, while a new excitement floods my system. I can feel the love from the other plants too, the approval and growing delight. And now that I’ve let myself sink into my Knowing, there’s another release, waves of emotion from elation to despair.
I let them all pass through me. Let the tears fall.
I weep for what has gone before and the role I played in my own oppression. I weep for the fear I let rule my life for so long. For the sheer terror of the unknown, and the elation of it too. For the endless gifts I’ve been given, and how I almost passed this one by.
I let the flood of emotions come, let them pass through me without judgement, letting the walls I’ve built up over the years to protect my heart come down with my tears.
Letting go is gentler than I imagined it would be, but I still feel tender and raw inside when the tears stop.
Vulnerable.
My thoughts immediately go to Jake, and I wish he were here to give me a hug. I pull the blanket tighter, imagining myself snuggled up close to him.
I can’t help smiling and feeling excited about all the opportunities in front of me now that I’ve decided to open myself to them. It’s still scary, but I think I’m ready to try. I want to.
