“If you have already lost everything and made your way through it, what do you have to lose by trying to create something new?”
I have asked myself this question nearly every day for the past eight or nine years. This question was part of a discussion or three that I had yesterday. Because of that, I found myself thinking about just how critical it was to what happened next in my life.
It certainly became a valid part of moving outside of my comfort zone after illness, homelessness, nursing home…This shift got me out of isolation, guardedness and fear. It allowed me to create a better quality of life, develop a social support network of quality people, and restored my faith in humanity in general.
This shift made room for growth in every area of my life. I stopped fearing the risks. I was empowered and more confident in my own ability to cope with whatever might come next. Even through the last few years of pump drama, I felt confident I would figure out how to manage eventually. I felt confident that I had many cheerleaders lifting me up to do just that.
My deepest fear was a repeat performance of losing everything, and I was often struggling with letting go of that fear. The day I realized that it could never get as bad as it once was, and took back my own power, was the day I let that fear remind me of my strength.
Yet another pivotal shift in thinking that accelerated growth, allowed me to move through the pump drama, and ultimately the pump’s removal, to see the other side with more clarity. It certainly isn’t perfect over here either, but it is lovely just the same.
This week, it has been a year since the surgery to remove my second baclofen pump. While I continue to feel frustrated with limitations, pain, and such, I continue to move forward. I continue to grow. I continue to take risks, even when it would be far easier to not. I continue to work, and I continue to feel grateful for a life that is overflowing with blessings.
It is almost as if I am finally growing into the very shoes I was meant to wear in this life. There is a sense of quiet contentedness in being who I am; more so now, than I can ever recall. It feels comfortable without feeling stagnant. It feels like home, with the understanding that new paint on the walls and rearranging the furniture will always be necessary to improve upon it.
There is not anything in particular I am searching for anymore. It was here all along just waiting for me to stop resisting, to stop fearing long enough, to look within to find it.
What do you have to lose by taking a risk? The better question is really what do you have to gain?