The Man in the Arena.

 Warning: this post is a little emotionally heavy. 

Note: I started writing this post like, at least two weeks ago. Probably three weeks ago, actually. So the mentions of “today”, and "yesterday" refer to that day and the day before it, three weeks ago.  Um, yes. That’s how long it took me to get my thoughts together on this. :)


I had three realizations today.  (what those three realizations actually were, are not the important part. but i will tell you. maybe. at the end of the post)

It was during a text conversation with a good friend this afternoon, that I actually put words to these three thoughts.  She asked me how I was doing, and before I knew it all sorts of insight and inspiration began spilling from my mind to the screen of my cell phone... and that’s when I knew it was time to blog.   

Here's the story.

Let me first explain, that a rather serious dating relationship I’ve had for the past eight months of my life, ended.  A month ago now, actually.  It felt pretty sudden and shocking at the time.  To say that it has been difficult, is possibly the understatement of the year.  I still don’t really do much analysis of it because it’s all too complicated and heavy and who really knows what happened anyway?   But, for the purposes of this blog post, you DO need to know a little bit of how it felt.  

In short, it felt (okay, sometimes still feels) as though I had fallen into the deepest, darkest, blackest crevice in the sidewalk, and wasn’t sure if, how, or when I’d be able to find some way to pull myself up and out.

Here's something else you'll need to know.  I deal with higher levels of anxiety than most people. I have seen a psychologist or been on medication on and off for the past several years.  Unfortunately, I think it might be one of those things that has to get worse before it can get better (which means that getting through all of this without being on medication means I'm learning how to deal... right?).  But anyway, the point is that when something like this happens, something that throws off all my stability, it often triggers the anxiety, and I start to feel afraid of or worried about things that don't normally bother me at all.  Which is really not fun. To say the least.    

Here is a longer description: 

Everyday felt like a rollercoaster (I don't care how cliche that phrase is).  Everyday I woke up with terror in my heart at the thought of what might happen that day.  What needs I might have that would not be met.  What people I would feel like I needed in my life that wouldn’t (couldn't) be there.  I felt afraid to stay in bed, afraid to get up, afraid to go to work, afraid to stay home.  Even afraid to make lunch.  But afraid not to (um, hello hypoglycemia.).  Most of all, afraid to expose myself to anything else that might cause even the slightest bit more pain or discomfort than I was already feeling.  Because honestly... I was afraid I couldn't handle it.
                                                                                                                                                                  

And that is how I carried (or rather trudged, in a very heavy, about to drop to the floor and give up sort of way) on.  

Until yesterday, that is. 



Yesterday, something inside me snapped.  Or gave up. Or maybe just altogether decided it wasn’t going to do this anymore.  I guess I decided that I wasn’t going to do this anymore. I couldn’t.  

And so, I decided that I was brave.  That I could handle more than I thought I could. That I dealt with a lot of things that were way above my maturity level when I was younger, and if I could handle really really hard things then, why not now?  I was never really one to back down from a challenge. 


And finally, I decided that even if I wasn’t feeling brave, or calm, or confident, that I was going to pretend like I WAS feeling that way, dang it.  

So, with those thoughts in mind, I marched myself directly into a situation that could’ve been potentially very painful for me.  And in many ways, it still was. Acting that way doesn’t necessarily lessen the pain of it, but the point is, I survived.  I put on a happy face, acted way overly confident, and continued to laugh and joke and hang out like the world was my oyster.   

(nevermind that the whole time I was really really concerned that there would be a huge emotional crash later.  nobody knew what i was thinking!  nobody knew i was worried!)

Anyway, here's the important part.  There is something about acting braver than you feel.  Something reckless.  Something wild.  And I won’t lie, it is frightening.  But you know what? It is also empowering.

And somehow, that made me realize how key mistakes are in this life of ours.


Let's back up a little.  This is what I said. To my friend (remember how I mentioned her at the beginning of this post?).

"... I guess I learned last night, though, that sometimes it doesn’t hurt to act braver than you feel.  It’s kinda liberating. It feels very appropriate for this age and stage in my life... you know? Like it’s proof that I’m really living and loving and getting hurt and having experiences and falling and getting up over and over again."

And that's it. Just like that.   

To be honest, it kind of surprised me.  Wait, what? Did I just write that? 

It just made so much sense!  And sounded so right!  SO RIGHT! 

And that's when I realized (decided?) that it’s okay to make all kinds of crazy mistakes.  To feel a little (or a lot) out of control and not really know what’s going on.  To accidentally reach a point where you don’t know if you can handle your situation emotionally. To suddenly realize how broken and bruised and unsure of everything in your life you are.  

And YET.  To STILL let yourself believe that you are brave.  That you can handle really hard things... even if maybe you don’t feel like, or truly, honestly, deep-down, believe that you can.  
 


I am only twenty-three. This is a time of exploration and experience.  It is a time that is meant for mistakes and learning and growing and more mistakes.  A time for questioning yourself and your values, and everything that you have believed so stalwartly your entire life.  A time for figuring out who you are and who you want to be and how in the hell you're going to get there.  And most of all, a time for taking chances.  A time for testing the limits.  And thus, a time for picking your bruised and bleeding, yet resilient body, up off the dusty, dirty earth time and time again.  

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”      ~Theodore Roosevelt

 

Maybe that is why i sometimes love that windblown look.  The messy hair dirty face look.  The look that says “I’ve been out tripping and falling and getting muddy and scraped and all kinds of beat-up, but I'm learning a ton."  There is wisdom in those eyes. 










Three realizations?  Right here:


1. I can do things that are really really ridiculously hard for me.  I am totally capable.
2. Sometimes it's really liberating to act braver than you feel.
3. I shouldn't be afraid of making mistakes. Mistakes are proof that I am living and loving and growing. And eventually becoming exactly who I want to be.