satisfaction brought it back

the end of the saying is so often left out but i think it's the most important part

i’ve always wanted to write a blog! i think at some point in my youth i did. but that would have been in the early 2010’s, probably on some early version of a notes app, or an empty, private website my dad created. for some reason i have a vivid memory of myself making blog posts. who knows if it’s real. even if it is, i doubt they were ever published. tldr, i have always wanted to have a blog, and i don’t think i have ever truly pursued that before.

this year i feel like i’m becoming more committed to pursing things i’ve always wanted to do. maybe not all at once, but slowly; surely. (side note, i recommend for anyone reading this to familiarize themselves with jill scott’s art. folks who are already familiar with her music will know why i just said that.)

i’ve been feeling so inspired by the people around me lately. i think that’s part of what made me get up today and decide to do this. that and the fact that i think (hope) it will have a positive impact on anyone reading it, including myself.

truthfully, despite this being public and literally having my name and photo attached to it, i have a feeling i will be able to achieve some sort of confidentiality here. maybe not anonymity, but some level of intimacy, between me, and anyone who cares enough to read my posts. i dont imagine this will become popular, so i don’t think i have much to worry about, but i feel i need to explicitly say that i actually sincerely hope it doesn’t – because i think it’s really freeing to be able to have a small audience for something so personal. that said, please don’t take that as discouragement to share with friends, or anyone you think might enjoy or benefit from it. <3

i’ve been thinking a lot about bravery recently, which naturally, has caused me to start thinking about fear. i say “naturally” because i feel like it’s obvious that they go hand in hand – that they’re closely related to one another in a particular way, but maybe it’s not as obvious as i think. maybe one day i’ll write a post that discusses the semantic distinctions between fearlessness and bravery. lol.

i have trouble identifying and responding to my fears. sometimes i wonder if i have any at all, because for pretty much all of my life, everyone has always told me that one of the most noticeable and inspiring things about me is my fearlessness. this kind of sounds like it’s going to be one of those moments where i reveal some secret internal struggle with being perceived one way (fearless) and feeling another (fearful), but it’s not. i definitely do have fears, but i actually tend to agree that i am and have always been pretty unafraid. for a long time i attributed this to my father – i always remember him being so aggressively encouraging, he would almost ridicule me if i doubted whether or not i could succeed at something, or if i underperformed at something he knew i could do better at if i just tried harder. i see now that he felt this approach was appropriate for me because it is the very one he developed for and used on himself.

some years ago, when i was discussing this apparent fearlessness with my mom, i casually mentioned to her that it was definitely because of my dad, after she told me she has “no idea where it comes from”. she asked me what i meant, and i recounted many memories of my dad from (when i was) between the ages of four and fifteen, frustratedly assuring me that any failure of mine was due to lack of effort, and nothing else. i explained that his certainty about my abilities instilled an almost delusional confidence, that translates (and reads to others as) fearlessness. she skeptically raised her eyebrows and shrugged, before telling me that i had always had an innate fearlessness, that predated any of those memories or experiences. to illustrate her point, she told me about a time in jamaica, when i was just under two years old, and saw a pool that i decided i wanted to swim in. most people know this, but two year olds cant swim independently, especially not for long or indefinite periods of time. since i was in fact under two years old at the time, i did not know (or really care) that two year olds cant swim, and decided to let go of my parents’ hands, run as fast as i could, and jump into the pool.

i’m not sure what gave me the idea that i could swim, or that jumping in the pool was something i should do. my dad definitely didn’t. my guess is that i didn’t give it much thought, and just jumped in because i wanted to be in the water. on some level i must have trusted that somehow, everything would turn out fine. were my thoughts and awareness at the time really advanced enough to know, or even think, that everything would be okay because my parents would save me? perhaps i’m not giving my two-year old self enough credit, and i did have some sense that my parents’ presence made the pool jump safe – but even if i did, i certainly don’t believe that i had a distinct thought, or line of reasoning that involved me wondering whether or not i could handle whatever was coming.

i think my mom’s point was exactly that – that i didn’t know what was coming, but i jumped in anyway, because i didn’t care. i wasn’t afraid of falling, or drowning, or dying – i was afraid of not swimming. i was afraid that we would pass the pool and i would miss my chance at doing something i wanted to do. maybe i was also afraid i wouldn’t get that chance again, and didn’t want to risk missing it. maybe those thoughts are too advanced for an infant. or maybe they aren’t. :)

ever since my mom shared that story with me i think about it often, and i see that fearless little guy in myself. because i was too young to have formed a memory of that when it happened, i never would’ve known about it through recollection, so im really grateful that our conversation ended up going in the direction it did.

i carry the two-year old version of myself that jumped in the pool with me everywhere i go – both to protect them, and to learn from them. whenever i’m afraid to jump because my experienced, thoughtful, traumatized, adult brain is aware of the dangers of jumping when you can’t swim, i remember that as scary as it might seems, there is no version of this story with a tragic ending – someone was watching me the whole time, and was there to help take me out of the pool – maybe before i even realized anything was going to go wrong. or maybe not! my mom didn’t clarify that part. lol.

throughout my life, i’ve jumped into many pools and been out of my depth. some times it takes me longer than others to realize, or admit that i can’t swim. sometimes my parents still have to pull me out of the pool. other times it’s my aunts, or my grandmas, or my friends, or my partners. a lot of times i feel like it’s me pulling my own self out of the pool. somehow that never stops me from continuing to jump.

curiosity killed the cat… but satisfaction brought it back! it’s one of my favourite quotes, but people often leave out the second part. it’s true that there are lots of things to fear, and many reasons to fear them. but isn’t it such a blessing to have the freedom to jump?

here’s to curiosity, satisfaction, and revival.