9.27.16

I wasn’t always afraid, you know.

When I was young, I would climb up the “big rock,”
My wide feet perched atop lichen and moss, concentrating,
Inhaling and - fear and all - taking the leap
Until I was laughing beside my father.

I bounced in my airplane seat, giddy with excitement
At the chance to feel turbulence. And I held wooden oars
In my hands, building callouses, strong and steady
As I helped row across the lake.

I climbed trees, scraped knees, felt alive as plum juice
Trickled down my chin. Balanced on logs, sprinted as fast as I could,
Constantly stretching my boundaries so that I could,
Once again, feel the blood pumping through my legs.

And even now, I’m not always afraid.

Getting knee-deep stuck in mud, rain boots making
A suck-sucking sound as I laugh wildly, trying to reach solid ground.
Inter-tubing down Rio Suerte, playing soccer against Costa Rican boys,
Feeling confident in my womanly body.

A summer filled with biking across gravel roads,
Skinny-dipping underneath a flock of herons, laying on my back
On the Caribbean sea, walking barefoot while trying to sidestep
Leaf-cutting ants; this time, mango juice dripping down my chin.

And smaller moments: skating on a frozen river, laughing
With nervousness and glee as ice begins to crack beneath us;
Dunking myself into the Puget Sound; swimming alone
As I will myself to smile at strangers.

And I know this to be true, that this is my authentic home:

A place where courage and heart join hands, so that I may feel alive,

Over and over again.