There is a fragility in love. In life.
It all feels so fleeting. So vulnerable. So delicate.
A constant dance, the steps of which you don’t know until you take them. But that’s the beauty in it isn’t it? To take the risk. To move and allow your heart to trust your feet. To have the faith that even if you step the wrong way, you’ll flow into the next move with a bit more grace as a result of the last one.
That kind of dance is beautiful to watch. To be a part of. The kind where it isn’t all planned. Maybe it doesn’t make much sense. But it’s flowing anyway.
It’s a risk to feel. To fall.
We all want to feel so in control. So together. We want to have it all figured out and know the answers to all the questions.
We’re scared of everything. Of ourselves. Of everyone else. Of failing. And of getting everything we’ve ever wanted.
What if I make an erroneous move? What if I let go and it doesn’t come back? What if I hold on and it falls through my fingers? What if I get it wrong? What if I mess it up? What if I jump into this dance and my partner can’t catch me?
I don’t know.
All I know is that I’d rather take the chance than watch it pass me by.
All of life is a risk. Every move we make has the chance of failing. That sense of security we give ourselves in certain things is forged.
Truth is nothing is certain. Nothing is guaranteed.
But if we allow that truth to paralyze us in our fear, we may as well just call it quits. What’s the point?
Sometimes the most alive moments of our lives come when we are most afraid. When we are most uncertain. Unsteady. Unprepared.
Maybe you’ll take that step and fall. And if you do, you’ll get back up and you’ll try again.
But maybe, maybe you’ll take that step and in your vulnerability and trust of the process, you’ll find your wings. Maybe it will be in the fragility of moving forward that you will stumble into everything you ever dreamed of finding. Maybe you’ll learn a dance you never knew you could do, and suddenly everything else will begin to make sense.
Maybe it’s when we surrender to the music that we truly find the heartbeat of everything.
In that conversation of trusting and being trusted, in the intricate steps and details of life’s flow, that’s where we come alive. That’s where we learn to breathe. That’s where we come back to ourselves. And it is in that motion that we are also able to fully give ourselves to someone else.
Maybe it is in our most delicate and precious moments of thrusting ourselves out of fear and insecurity that we finally find solid ground.