Being scared of putting yourself out there isn’t a new
concept to most people. Whether it’s romantically, professionally, or socially,
among relatives, classmates, coworkers, or strangers, taking a step forward is
difficult for everyone at some point. Here’s a visualization I created for
myself when explaining to others what I’m feeling.
I’m standing at the mouth of a cave on a fairly deep beach
(deep as in distance from waterline to said cave, as opposed to wide as in
distance running along the water). Enjoying my time on the beach is where I
want to be, not necessarily at the waterline the whole time, but out of the
dim, musty cave that I’m currently standing in. I take a couple steps out and
feel the breeze across my toes, but as I get farther into the beach, the sand
gets a little too hot and I retreat back to my cave.
Unbeknownst to me at that moment, I’ve entered the cave a
few feet in from where I started. The cold sand feels good on my feet, and
although I can see the light on the sand, it’s comfortable to sit in the cave
that whistles to me while it holds me.
After a bit I gather a bit of courage and take some bold
steps onto the sand, exiting the cave on my own willpower and desire to be on
the warm beach. The warmth feels good on my back. The sun rejuvenates my love
for the beach that I knew I wanted to be on. Life is good.
Taking a few more steps towards the water, the calm crashes
of the waves shows me a serenity that I did not know was there. The sand
beneath my feet, the breeze rushing through my hair, the warm sun on my face,
and the rushing symphony of the crashing waves fills me with energy and passion
that I knew I wanted in some form but did not know how to harness.
Until a wave knocks me on my back and the seemingly calm
water has now taken my over and dragged me chest deep with my toes barely
touching.
I panic, become disoriented, and with eyes closed and
erratic breaths, find the sand with my feet and hands and crawl back up to the
waterline, shaking the water out of my ears, wiping my face, and spitting the
salty ambush from my mouth as I run back towards the cave.
I stop running when it gets dark and the water still
dripping down my body is starting to make me cold in the dim rock shelter so I
collapse to my knees and hug myself to keep warm.
My breath stabilizes and I can’t distinguish between tears
and ocean, but I bury my face in my hands atop my knees and sit in silence in
the cave that I did not know was this deep.
I feel like I’m being punished for my bold steps onto the
warm sand. Distracted by the elation of the symphony of peace, I let my guard
down and trusted the world. For a brief moment I forgot my fear of drowning and
total disorientation, and in that seemingly perfect moment I lost myself. When
I finally gathered myself I ran as fast as I could on solid ground until I knew
I was safely away from the grip of the rushing waves.
And just like life, the cycle continues, the desire for the
beach keeps me coming out, and whenever I am beaten by the waves, sunburn, or
sand in my eyes (all things I know are possibilities of being on the beach) I
retreat further back into the cave. Sometimes I run so far back that the
outside is but a tiny pinpoint of light. Occasionally, someone comes into the
cave with a torch to show me the way out. But the more they approach, the more
I recoil. If I trust them enough I may come forward to join them. Depending on
what I see up ahead, I may come barreling forward knowing that whatever is
motivating me is worth the risk of being knocked on my back by the waves.
There have been times when I stand at the waterline with a
friend. There have been other times when I’ve shut my eyes in the cave and
stayed there until I’m too cold, and I’m forced to come out onto the sand just
to stay alive, but I don’t step too far out, and the light is painful to my
eyes that have adjusted to the darkness.
Obviously, this visualization is perfect for me since I love
the beach, the sun, and can’t swim. For you, your beach may be a forest. Or
your cave may be the ocean as you look for trees and land. Wherever you end up,
you make the decision to step towards the light or retreat further back into
your cave. Sometimes you run forward, and sometimes you crawl back. Maybe what
you think is the sun glimmering into your dark prison is someone’s smile, and
that’s all you need to open your eyes. I can’t answer that for you. All I can
do is decide how far out onto the beach my feet take me, and if I get knocked
down, I can rinse off in the water, and curl up at the mouth of my cave when
high tide comes in to rest—until the next day when I step out onto the sand
again.
