cliff jumping and standing on fear's edge

we glorify other life procedurals that are just as terrifying...

the Art Of Newsletter is a space where my writings, musings and processings are published to support the growth of my studio practice, and work towards a larger publishing goal. if you enjoy reading this today, would you consider upgrading to paid for 6 dollars a month? paid subscribers will be getting new fun recordings very soon x

There is a bridge down the road from the house I grew up in, where we would jump from the roadside and into the waters in the summertime.

Growing up in a small town in upstate New York, what else is there to do? We were throwing parties in corn fields, forests or abandoned houses… cliff and bridge jumping. Cars honk as they pass, as if in protest to our reckless boredom. I’ve seen friends run across the road and catch their foot on the guard rail tucking to jump, tumbling head-first down to the shallow water below. I’ve witnessed friends come up with broken ankles or bloody knees. Still, there’s no hesitation when we show up the next week. We free fall into the water below, doing anything we can to match the adrenaline coursing through our veins. Where does this nerve go later in life?

Beginning new things can be intimidating, and sometimes the hardest part. But there is a space here that I crave and look for everywhere:

The moment of risk, the moment where everything is still possible.

It reminds me of the fall from the bridge when I’m 14. My belly lops up into my stomach, my body gives in to the swirl of gravity.

It is a space between intuition, just before anxiety has a chance to take over. It cannot exist here. There is a faithless leap, one where your body is limp and joyful like a kid catapulting into a summer pool.. there is no brace for impact. What happens on the way down, or upon contact, is irrelevant as your foot pushes off the ledge. So many of us look down on this naive nature as we age and outgrow our reckless abandon—- but what if there is divine wisdom found there?

You later learn to hold your nose or ask how deep the water is or close your eyes and scream the whole way down as your stomach flips into your throat. Eventually, we can even avoid looking over the edge altogether. But if we can hang on to that faithless leap just once or twice longer in this life, sometimes we get something much bigger than we could have ever imagined out of our courageous leap. Everything is still possible.

Love will always be one of them.

And in my opinion, one of the most widely-accepted forms of insane, unfiltered bravery. When you fall in love, you’re giving the other person a direct line to your heart space. A place where many people will never know, see or feel. It is a form of trust so profound it’s utterly terrifying, yet our society looks at us sideways if we wander into our 30’s unwed. Why haven’t you leapt off the cliff again after you’ve had your heart broken a million times and he took you for everything you’re worth and shattered any understanding of self and trust you had?

It is the one form of cliff-jumping that is expected of us. And rightfully so, as it keeps our world spinning.

Through all of the love and loss I’ve had in my short 32 years, it always has been worth the leap… even through the devastation and abuse. I would not be the person I am without having experienced it. The monsters may have taken things I did not deserve to have stolen, but they created a well of endless empathy for the world, and myself, and others. My light shines because I have felt their darkness.

Even still…I stand at the cliff edge, trembling, my fingers gripping the railing, terrified to look down.

Most of the time, I get a running start and plunge without even a glance. You start to do your research after being harmed too many times, and learn that broken bones aren’t always worth the risk. It turns out, the depth of the water matters to me now.

I am still learning to navigate the between— where love is still worth the jump, but requires a second glance. I’m grateful to have a safe space to do it.

Other than love, there have been very apparent times in my life where the risk felt innate, a pulling toward the unknown even with the fear of the way down. Moving to Charleston without knowing a soul, leaving my education career, ending my relationship with nothing to my name, traveling alone and with others I barely knew, living in a van with my best friend…the list is important and imperative. Making me into the human I now call me.

Many of those jumps were scolded and judged by many people.

If I had followed the expectation, I would be in a very different, very scary place. Each time I chose to jump, my inner self-trust muscle strengthened, along with my confidence. I stopped listening to the options of others and didn't allow their own fears to project onto my life. I learned that in order to keep myself safe in the long run—sometimes I would need to plunge into the unknown depths below….even if it knocked the wind out of me.

Over the last year, I’ve lost so much of that confidence that has been a driving factor in my life. Each circumstance, whether it be the end of a relationship, health crisis or mental health healing— was necessary as a path to my own growth. But it’s pushed me to keep my world very very small and very very safe. I count my steps as I walk. I avoid bridges and have no interest in nearing that edge.

January marks a tipping point for me, a relearning of what it means to trust myself.

My best friend and I have just signed a brand new studio lease here in Charleston, something I have been dreaming of for nearly 6 years now. At times, to have a self-funded life as an artist can feel vibrant and exciting and endlessly sexy. It can also feel unsteady, off-putting and terrifying… at others. I am not a trust fund baby. Nor do I have family or a husband who can bail me out. But I have taught myself to become pretty well-trained in cliff jumping, thanks to my 13-year old self— who stood dangerously close to the edge, long before she was ever ready to jump. I have spent the last several years of my life trying to reparent her, save her from the pain and hurt and abandon she experienced…. and had no retribution for.

But today, as I turn in the paperwork, I embody her fully and wholeheartedly, without shame or hesitation for her bold nature.

Instead, I step into her essence as I stand at the edge of apprehension— a direct defiance of the grip of uncertainty and fear… the exact of defiance my parents grounded me for and my teachers suggested other routes for— and I smile wickidly, looking fear directly in the face…. as I tuck my legs and jump.

our new studio space, opening next month. if you’d like to join us for a workshop here, you can learn more and stay in the loop x

if you enjoyed this space today and it moved something within you, would you share with a friend? I’d be forever thankful x

Some prompts to work through this week:

• What would your life look like if fear no longer had power over you?

• Is there anything that I can do to diminish the possibility of what I fear actually happening?  Extra planning, preparation, people who can help or changes to be made?  

• What is one small act you can do this week to conquer a fear or uncomfortable feeling? (going out to eat alone, driving somewhere new, asking someone out for coffee, searching for a new job)

• Reflect on a past instance when you conquered a fear. What did you learn from that experience?

• What strengths or qualities do you possess that can help you overcome your fears?

• Pay attention to moments when you feel sudden intense emotions (e.g., anger, sadness, anxiety) without an apparent cause. Journal about these instances and try to trace their origin.

• What emotions seem to surface unexpectedly, and could they be linked to underlying fears?

• If I keep doing what I am already doing, change nothing and start nothing new, what will happen?  Am I okay with that? What might I miss out on? 

• Imagine giving physical form to your fear. If your fear were embodied as a person, how would you describe their appearance? Provide intricate details about your fear's physical features and assign a name to this personification of your fear.

• Conduct an interview with your fear, posing the following inquiries (along with any additional ones that naturally arise):

  1. What does the fear care most about?

  2. What aspirations does your fear have regarding your life?

  3. How does your fear perceive you?

  4. Does your fear have faith in you? What factors contribute to this trust or lack thereof?

  5. What instills fear within your fear itself?

  6. How can you befriend this person, acknowledge them, and honor them— while asking them to gently step to the side?