I Am Not A Leaf

I’ve spent nearly seven months inside the conversations and pages of what has grown, shaped, and blossomed into 7.7.7. Now, fully formed, it is released.

You’d think my experience of such would be deep relief and exultant joy. The Hallelujah Chorus blasting on my stereo. Champagne and confetti en masse.

Yes and no.

Of course, I’m thrilled that it’s done. I’m thrilled that it’s available. I’m thrilled that you have the opportunity to hear the 7 conversations, “meet” the 7 amazing women, and say “yes” to 7 invitations that are powerful and compelling. (And though no Handel was playing, I did share a lovely glass of sparkling wine with a beautiful friend while soaking in generous congratulations from many. You know who you are. Thank you.)

At the same time, there was something tentative and unnerving about releasing it to the world. Even during the final, painstaking proofreading,  “clicks,” and “sends,” I was aware of my hesitancy to let go.

Truth-be-told, I was am afraid.

A glimpse into my thoughts: As long as I keep perfecting, tweaking, and editing my efforts, I am not exposed. As long as I hoard my work and my words, I am not left to bear what others’ response might be. I feel relatively safe and measured through the lens of my blogging; monitoring comments and analytics, writing because I can’t not. But when a price tag is added and content leaves – now blown by the winds of consumerism, marketing, and PayPal, the equation radically changes. Control goes out the window. (An illusion, the whole “control” thing, but work with me here.)

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Outside my front window are two trees, now nearly naked of all foliage. Their remaining red and yellow leaves think nothing of it. They do not hesitate, ponder, or procrastinate. They let go – unwittingly, naturally, seasonally. Control is not an issue.

Look at the lilies of the field and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, God will certainly care for you. Why do you have so little faith? (Matthew 6:28-30)

The release of a self-guided, reflective journey aside, why do I have so little faith?

It’s simple really: I’m not a lily or a wildflower. I am not a leaf.

I am highly complex, confusing, conflicted, and controlling (and admittedly over the top with words that start with the same letter). I am also brilliant, creative, funny, passionate, goddessy, generous, and full of love.

I’m a glorious mess. Rivaling Solomon, for sure.

Letting go. Having faith. These are complex, rollercoaster-like, doubt-ridden things. They are not the realities of a leaf.

That said, there are a few things we have in common. We both course with alive-ness. We both change. We both get blustered by the wind. We both fall down. And we are both embraced by the same Universe.

So I’ll watch the leaves let go, unaware of their destiny or fate. And I’ll let go, eventually, equally unaware, but doing everything I can (in both frantic and fruitful ways) to determine my destiny and outwit fate.

I am not a leaf: I know fear. I know faith. One does not supersede the other.

And new seasons are in store for me, just the same.

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Tagged as: destiny, faith, Fall, fear, God, leaves, letting go, release, seasons, wind