I perch at the edge of a 40 foot precipice.
They want me to do what??!
No! I turn back. My butt is tingling with that weird feeling only people with acrophobia know. But I will conquer! My head spins, I’m dizzy with adrenaline and drunk with the euphoria of accomplishing something I have wanted to do just forever.
And I climb over the edge at last and hang for a moment, suspended high in the air, slowly rotating in a harness. This is my new world. I survey my domain, still feeling the uneasiness yet loving the heady sense of hanging in the air three stories above mere ground-dwellers beneath.
I am no longer listening to the voice of fear.
And fear still hollers away, now hoarse with desperation because I’m not listening anymore LAA LAA LAA fingers in my ears. Shut the hell up, fear, I’m busy up here doing the cool shit I always wanted to do, the things others said I couldn’t accomplish. I absolutely cannot fear if I am going to do what I intend. Funny thing about fear… the less you pay attention to it the smaller it gets, until it’s just a tiny blip on the radar. It’s still there but it’s no longer an incoming ICBM threatening to blow apart your life. It’s now a mere smidge of dust on the screen. I easily blow the piece of dust away and continue.
I plant my feet on the wall and let out a little rope, bouncing down, down, down as my head fills with giddy knowledge that I am doing something I always wanted to do. I don’t think anyone else even knows I always wanted to do this. I do my victory landing, my feet firmly on the ground.
I have won the day.
When you’re climbing 40 foot walls, everything else seems a bit easier. Bill in the mail? Phhht. Car broke down? Ha. Impossible client, No problem. I already scaled a 40 foot wall today, gimme a real challenge.
Once I made the decision to turn out all the Dudes, my life went into hyperdrive. I am cruising along, riding my pain-powered life machine, and so far it’s working really well.
I don’t drink. Alcohol brings back strong memories of Jackdude, foggy recollections of tipsy evenings viewed through an overly optimistic Vaseline smeared lens, frustratingly making the past appear better than it really was. I want to hop in a plane and jet away the exact opposite direction, racing through the sky, the glistening emerald city of Monica’s Hopes And Dreams gleaming in the distance.
But it’s not that easy. Instead, I pull up to a cave. Bright yellow tape warns CAUTION, a haphazardly painted sign warns DANGER! DO NOT ENTER but I have a crowbar and make short work of weathered boards concealing the mouth. Pitching all of this aside, I feel the cool air, click on my miner’s light, and start my journey into the dark cavern. I press ahead, pickax and shovel on my back, entering the gold mine of my own mind at last. I’m a deranged, half toothless, bearded vagrant prospector THERE’S GOLD IN THEM THERE HILLS!! frantically shoveling after nuggets and panning the river for every last tidbit of dream I ever had.
I make list after list of things. Things I love to do. Things I’ve always wanted to try. Things that are specifically my own, my ideas. Things I’m not going to do anymore, that were never my dream, just someone else’s you know what you really should do?, someone else’s obligation. Things I absolutely MUST accomplish, or I’m really going to be kicking myself on my deathbed, yet another soul drifting into eternity, dreams still colors of paint on the palette, never having made it onto the canvas. But these paints are not staying on the palette, and as paint to canvas, ink pours onto paper, and the real Monica begins to take shape. Just a skeleton, but it’s a start.
I love to run.
I love to write.
I love to create.
I love being onstage.
I love writing music.
Singing is my lifeblood, I can’t live without it.
I love public speaking and still can’t believe that it’s the #1 top fear for most people. I’m missing that particular fear gene. I could get up in front of ten thousand people, and punt. Wouldn’t be the best, but I could do it and would still love it.
I love being the center of attention, the life of the party. It’s taboo to admit this, but there it is. It’s not a sin, by the way. Are you listening, church people?
I love people, for the most part… connections, relationships, coffee dates and dinner engagements.
I love parties.
I love adventure.
I love health food.
I love being outside.
I love water.
And the things I want to try…
I want to create things.
I want to be a public speaker again.
I want to be in a band, or actually in some bands.
I want to travel.
I want a Jeep.
I want to dance.
And, of course, I want to climb.
I am building my Mpire, and right now I’m choosing the bricks. And god it feels amazing!
And I draft a list of things I DON’T want in my Mpire, just as important.
I don’t want Dudes.
I don’t want to be around people who aren’t going to support my hopes and dreams.
I don’t want to spend any significant time with negative Nancys, Debby Downers, or Drama Dianes. Although, this really is a misnomer, because there is also Negative Nick, Dave Downer, and Drama Danny. Guys, you can be just as bad.
I don’t want to be around alcoholics.
I don’t want to watch “the game”.
I don’t want a relationship at the moment.
And I move forward into my construct, and can just about feel shackles falling from my wrists and feet as I claim myself, claim my life. I am climbing into the drivers seat, and baby we are going to bury this needle!
At night I go to bed sober and alone, in the morning I wake up and write, and write, and plan, and scheme, and dust off gold nuggets and place them in my growing pile of treasure. The best part? The treasure is me, and no one can take that away. I feel it growing, a fire burning behind my breastbone. And Every. Single. Bit. of the pain of loneliness, the agony of my broken heart, the sheer regret of all the time wasted are all massive chunks of coal being shoveled heartily into this blaze, feeding the fire, driving me forward. Makes me wish I had figured out this strategy a long time ago, but that’s water under the bridge, long drifted away with all of the old leaves and detritus, far beyond decay, now mere humus. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I can’t change things long gone down the river, but I sure as hell can change them now, and I splash right in and start moving the banks.
Each day I sense the positive energy building inside. I can feel it. When I walk, it feels like I’m a rock in a river creating waves that touch the world around me. I am feeding positive energy to everything surrounding, and the world is responding! I’m not going to claim I know why, or how, but this little bundle of positive energy is starting to change things. Friends notice. Sisters comment. Strangers respond. I don’t understand it, but something other-worldly is happening, though you’re never going to convince me it’s because I’m a Libra or because my moon is rising in the house of Venus, though that does sound cool. Fuck it, my moon is rising in the house of Venus. I, as ruler of my Mpire, deem it so.
Ha.
I had been taking all of my energy, all of my life force, and giving it to someone else. It’s the equivalent of opening up your wallet in the middle of the Mall of America just to set it slap in the middle of the food court, walking away yelling “TAKE AS MUCH AS YOU LIKE!!” and then wondering why it’s empty.
So what happens when all of this energy, resource, time, effort, skill, all of the everything is feeding back to me?
My heart and life is filling at an astounding rate and I’m constructing this amazing founda…
DING
Oh my God, he’s back.
Worship Leader Gone Wild 