Am I Brave?

Today’s wind whips the freshly emerged and blossoming daffodils. The yellow and cream flowers are caught unawares. What happened to the sunshine, the blue and cloudless sky they were born beneath? It’s too cold for them today and the temperature continues to drop. It was with this little worry on behalf of the daffodils that I began today’s hour of communal Sunday journaling. I was instructed by Suleika Jaouad, via Zoom, to close my eyes for sixty seconds and ask myself the following question: What is coming up for you?

I’ve done exercises such as this one in the past, prior to writing. And what always “comes up” for me first are negative physical sensations. Where in my body do I feel discomfort or pain or added weight? Today, inside of me fluttered nervousness, concentrated mostly in my chest and soldiers, and an unsettled rumbling gurgled in my stomach.

I’m in between books right now; I can’t decide what to read next. This is a small thing, this inability to pick a title. This petite resistance preventing me from settling down with a text. But it is a symptom of a larger condition. In my life, I am dealing with an overarching unease. I’m on the precipice of… something.

In winter, on a whim while visiting our family, I went to see a psychic in Pennsylvania. She said something that stuck inside my brain, almost like a message printed on a notecard, pierced through by a tack. This notecard, it was buried by community flyers and notices, but it stuck to the bulletin board of my mind regardless, and I uncovered her message today for the first time in months.

In May, she said, big changes are coming to your life. Leading up to these changes, there will be increased momentum.

Easy for her to say, I thought, I'm a teacher, a big change comes to my life every year in May. It’s called summer and it’s fabulous. Granted, I never told her I was a teacher, but that is why these people get paid the big bucks, right?

But now I feel something else really might be coming. Something new.

As I sat motionless during my sixty seconds of silence, the physical discomfort floated from the forefront of my mind and in came two alternating questions.

Am I brave?

Do I have what it takes?

I’m unsure of what these questions even pertain to right now. I just know they’re rattling around inside of me like pinballs, zapping my internal organs, lighting up my senses. Making me fret about the answers.