STUCK

Whenever I get stuck at the crossroads of a decision.

Arm wrestling with doubt, trying to find my way forward

in the dark with one hand tied behind my back,

I think of myself when I’m 80.

Nothing coalesces the options, the right way, the clear path forward like the vision of me nearing the end of life.

What would my future self say to my current self?

When I call her up, she arrives immediately ready with the answer. Liberally dropping f-bombs and filling the room with light.

I’ll tell you, that old, sagely bitch doesn’t mince words.

She’s got humor, she cuts through the fat, she serves up big, meaty hunks of truth with love and razor-sharp clarity.

She is very keen to see this younger version of me

not waste time with excuses and fear of inadequacy.

Fear of failure. Fear of a hard, messy struggle.

Struggle woman.

Fight like hell for it.

Look at your blessed life, goddammit.

Look at those abs!

You still have thick hair and a clear mind

and the skin on your calves isn’t yet sagging.

Take that body out for a walk.

Get sun on your legs.

Stretch in the morning light and get yourself ready.

Ready, ready.

And then leap. Every morning. Just fucking leap. There’s nothing but glory and possibility out there in the free fall.

And by the way…do it now because all you’ve got is now.

She talks to me like a football coach before a big game - a little tough and yearning for my own good.

She’s well and truly a badass, with no regrets.

She makes me want to show up for her.

She reminds me not to let her down.