The Journey of 100 Feet
Distance does not make a journey
I had been walking on foot for thousands of miles and finally reached the coast.
Only the beach was not my final destination; I had to board a boat.
The ocean seems completely different than the land.
My feet dragged as they dared to leave the sand.
As this shift began to occur, every part of my being wanted to reject it. Every aspect of me wanted to run away. So, I leaned in instead.
As I sat with the anger and sadness, they transformed out of their costumes and revealed their true selves.
Fear.
How often has this happened? How often do anger and sadness mask the fear I hold? I leaned into this far too familiar emotion.
No wonder fear hid away from my sight.
The second the root of the fear showed itself, it was impossible to escape.
The moment I leaned into the fear, I stepped onto the boat.
As I did, I thought, “I may never see this land again.” Equal parts of hope and anxiety resided in my words.
Leaning into discomfort challenges every part of myself. Discomfort forces me to change and grow.
It thrust me into the unknown.
It would be so much easier to remain the same.
I picked the chipped paint on my fingernails as anxiety grew.
I didn’t know how much the boat would hold. What would I be able to carry with me? What would I have to leave upon the sand?
My empty gut sank from the weight of understanding.
Freedom comes at a cost.
Too much baggage will sink the ship. What would I take with me? What did I need to leave behind?
I wasn’t sure. So, for that day, I simply chose to practice.
In times of the unknown, effortless meditation remains with me. I decided to close my eyes and sit on the bank in my boat not having left, not having stayed.
I looked back at the journey that brought me there and let the sun kiss my skin.
When I opened my eyes, I realized I had drifted off the coast. In not deciding what to bring, I had inadvertently left it all.
The boat bounced on the waves.
I was on a new journey.
I sat there thinking of all the places I could go — new adventures to be had, new people to meet, new sights to see. My imagination soared.
With a tingle up my spine, I felt freedom.
Then a wave came high and mighty. It stranded me back on the sand.
“You are here.” Echoed in my chest.
My mind protested, “but I didn’t go anywhere! What kind of journey is that?”
Then laughter planted itself on my lips. All the fear of the “big” trip that I was about to embark on only to be starting again on the same land I had already traveled through.
This monumental moment pushed me a whopping 100 ft.
Distance does not make a journey.
As I started off on foot, over the same sand, I was not the same.
In deciding to board the boat, the core of my being had already changed.
Each step felt slightly different as my foot sank into 1000 unique grains of sand.
I would continue my journey on land.
Be it on earth, by water, or in air, I close my eyes twice a day and experience my own existence. I learn new lessons, even if I travel to the same places.
Returning is undoubtedly not the same as never having left.
A friend sees me from a distance and cocks their head. Cupping their lips they shout, “I thought you were going on a trip!”
I smile back politely, not saying a word; they don’t need to understand.
I already have. I already am.
It is only I who knows the vastness of my wild, spiritual path.
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