My daughter is fearless. She’s climbed trees two stories high hanging over a three story drop (that’s five stories if you’re counting). She dove off a swim block in a competitive swim meet at the ripe old age of five. And she has climbed circus silks far above my head twisting herself in and flipped over in an elegant inversion before righting her self and sliding to the ground with a flourish and grin.
My girl’s a study in bravery. Except when she’s not.
Watching her struggle with insecurity around other people and with some things that really matter, hurts my heart. I see the potential in her. I see what she could be, what she could achieve, but she’s too afraid to try.
And I recently realized how often I do the same. I’m afraid to try. To risk.
I recently realized that I’ve made a massive shift in the last few years. The tectonic plates of my life have created an earthquake, and my easy way of moving through life has been destroyed.
You’d think I’d be reduced to tears at seeing my old way of life crumble. But I’m not. I’m glad.
Even though the commitment to look at my life, really look, is sometimes hard, it’s also really good.
I find myself looking at the sky, my kids, the rain, listening to the swell of the wind or the music on my radio, and I’m in awe.
There’s something about life. You know?
That got me thinking about how to be purposeful in recognizing the things that make me stop and wonder. I want to commit to at least every other Thursday giving a nod to the things that make me stop and say, “There’s something about . . . ”
There’s something about Thursday. We’re almost to the end of the week. Maybe it can become a time where together we find that something to think about.
Maybe you can notice and wonder with me. So for today, how would you complete the sentence: There’s something about . . . ?