Getting to know someone in the realm of infinite possibilities is a strange and magical gift. On one hand, the past no longer exists and the future is wide-open, unknown, vast, big, endless. On the other hand, the present moment is limited to my thinking mind--tuned to the past and the future. If I turn off my mind, like in the first few moments of the waking day, or in those one or two seconds where meditation is actually successful, the rest of whatever supposed matter and ether I call “me” knows the way, and the delight of my soul has nothing to do with the past or the future.



I have absolutely no idea where I’ll be tomorrow, and now, more than ever, I’m hyper-aware of the fact that the tiniest shift in thinking, or in not thinking, or the tiniest action, or non-action, changes the course of my life. I’m standing at the end of the springboard from which any direction is brilliant because just the act of diving in implies faith. It’s the reason I’ve taken this adventure: to feel that razor’s edge, that peeling away of the superfluous layers that obscure my spirit’s path, to bounce on that springy end once or twice, maybe a third time, allow my toes and heels to lift off, feel the emptiness of that space and the hugeness of the potential in that action... and jump.

I remember being three or four, standing at the end of the diving board at the deep end of the YMCA pool. I didn’t yet know how to swim, but my dad was in the water with open arms saying, “Jump! I’ll catch you!” Having never tried, I had no reason to believe he would (nor did I have a reason to believe he wouldn’t, but I was still scared). I hesitated for a few minutes, contemplating my only other choice: climbing back down the ladder to safe and solid ground. But other children had lined up at the ladder, blocking the way, so I stood halfway to the edge in the safe middle of the board, waiting quietly, and he insisted, “Come on! Jump! I’ll catch you!” Realizing my only choice was to believe that he would, I somehow managed to stop thinking about it—suspending my fears for a brief second—and leapt toward his open arms. Just as he’d promised, he caught me. And worlds opened.

I’ve carried that gift, that knowledge that everything is going to be ok, that blind trust, with me my entire life. So when someone asks me, with genuine fear for their own future in their voice, “What are you going to do next?” I just smile and try to witness that smile from my present place and say when “next” reveals itself, I will know. The present moment is potent with possibility, but the unknown…the unknown is an open invitation to GREATNESS.



The same question could be asked, with genuine love and support in their voice “When the present moment reveals itself, will you have the courage to leap?”