Keep Distance

A lot of the trucks here have a warning on the truckbed saying, “Keep Distance”. A reminder to stay the hell away, because the driver might be throwing this puppy in reverse or slamming on the brakes. It serves as a preemptive warning that “hectic” is about to be the proper descriptor for his navigating. Meanwhile, “Follow Me” would service the precisely opposite intention. “Follow me. You can trust me because I know where I’m going.” The “Keep Distance” driver is absolutely NOT sending this message to the tailgating Tuktuker or motorbiker. Truth is, I’ve found myself a lot more in the “Keep Distance” camp these past few months. I’ve certainly had my “Follow Me” moments. And in these cases, I’m convicted. I know what I’m doing. I know where I’m going. I’ve picked up the scent. I’ve got my direction. I’m following very clear navigation. But, when I’m in “Keep Distance” mode, I’m totally lost. Driving erratically. At risk of swerving into oncoming traffic. I’ve lost the track. And I’m doing whatever I can to get it back. During those periods of extreme uncertainty, I throw up the warning, “Keep Distance. And trust me… it’s for your own safety.” (That said, whenever anyone says, “Trust me”, I heighten my awareness until I understand whether they’ve got good intentions or just some of those good ole ulterior motives.) I can feel the change in sensation when I’m entering into one of these precarious states. The approach of this state typically means I’m about to plunge into the depths of my soul. I’m about to venture into scary parts. The uncomfortable parts. The parts unknown. I’m about to shine a light on the parts where I refused to ever shine a light before. The parts where — when I’m otherwise just driving peacefully, following the agreed-upon rules of the road — I wouldn’t dare go. I can hear the GPS saying, “Hey brother, there’s a cliff right around the corner. Just a heads up. I wanted to give you a lil bit of warning. But you also know what you need to do. You know you need to go there. Gonna need you to drive right off that cliff. And you’re just gonna have to trust me, even though I know you’re extremely scared in this moment.” When I hear this call, it’s like receiving a death threat for my previous existence. And those feelings are accurate. After all, I’m getting directions to the next stage of my transformation. “Evolution Incoming”, the street signs read, as I race towards the cliffside at an utterly reckless speed. When I hear the call, I jam the gas, as I shift into an approach of All-Systems-Go. There’s no chance to hesitate. I have no time to prepare. I have to give the road in front of me my full attention. Because I’m about to cliff jump on outta here. And I have no clue what I’m gonna find down there. One of the hardest parts, aside from the crippling fear, is that when I get issued this directive to take the leap, I find it nearly impossible to explain to all the folks I care about out here. What to say to all my brothers & sisters? How to communicate with my family and friends? After all, what I have to say is a pretty counterintuitive message: “Please don’t worry about me. I have no clue what I’m doing. I have no clue where I’m going. But I’m not afraid. Well, I am afraid, but I’m gonna do it anyway. You’re just gonna have to trust me. Well, not exactly “me”, because I’m clearly clueless here. You’re just gonna have to trust in something. God. Fate. A force that’s greater than you & me. The Great Creator. Spiritual electricity. Whatever you wanna call it. Whatever works for you. You’re just gonna have to trust in that. Because that’s what I’m trusting in too. I trust that whatever view’s waiting for me over the edge is exactly what I need to see. I trust that this plunge will probably be painful. But I also trust that this fall won’t kill me. I do have a feeling that this fall will lead to a whole lotta change. But I also know that taking this leap is going to lead to something great. I have a feeling that this fall will be the start of the next chapter in my ever-evolving life story.” Don’t worry, even though I have no clue what I’m doing. Don’t worry, even though I can’t explain it to you. Those messages are, indeed, quite counterintuitive. I am aware that being on the receiving of one of these messages would be quite anxiety-inducing. It’s effectively telling the people I care about, “Don’t be afraid on my behalf… even as I’m about to do something that admittedly makes me scared sh*tless. I’m afraid, but I’m not. I feel the fear, but I’m not gonna listen. I know the jump isn’t advisable, but I also know it’s the path to my evolution.” This series of messages brought to you by: Counterintuitive Confusion. So, amidst this duality, often the best I can muster is this: “Keep Distance.” It captures the sentiment of the current situation. It communicates the essence of my internal state. If I were long-winded and communicating stream-of-consciousness, which I wouldn’t dare do here, I’d express, “Keep Distance. Now is not the time to follow me blindly (or at all). I need the space to take this solo journey. I wouldn’t recommend following in my footsteps — at least not yet — because I don’t know what awaits for me over this edge. But trust me, I’ll come back. Trust me, I will resurface eventually. I vow to resurface when I’m ready. I’m gonna drive off this cliff and I’ll rendezvous with you once I return to safety.” Then, after all this curt “Keep Distance” communication, I hurtle towards the precipice. I reach the edge. I punch the gas pedal and let go of the wheel. I do my best Throwback Carrie Underwood impression and I… SEND IT over the ledge. I take the plunge. When I fall, fall, fall towards the river, I feel the fear that threatens to bubble over. But then, inevitably, I hit the water. I hit the water and always have the same realization: my Past Self is the anchor. My Past Self is the anchor that threatens to drag me to the bottom. The anchor that promises to drown me in the depths of the river. So, if I’m meant to survive, if I’m meant to transform forward, then I must muster up the courage to leave my Past Self behind. I have to untie the anchor of my Past Self, while my Future Self extends a hand that promises to pull me to the surface. In the final moments of the fall, I expect to die. The fear is so intense that I wait to be pronounced “Dead on Impact”. And this fear is actually justified. I would die, if I refuse to let go of my Past Self, if I grip that anchor much too tightly. But I don’t. I don’t hold on to the comfort of my Past Self. I let go of the anchor… purely out of necessity. I release it from my grip, my now-freed hand reaches for my Future Self, my Future Self who’s extending a hand meant to guide me to the surface. I trust in my Future Self, the one who’s there to rescue me. He pulls me out of the water. I break through the surface. Gasping for air, I breathe new life into a new being. I reemerge, from a fall that I expected to kill me. But, like Skyfall James Bond getting shot from a friendly-fire sniper and falling from the top of a high-speed train that’s traveling on a bridge 100+ meters above the water, I resurface unscathed. I sustain only a handful of minor injuries. A literal handful. My hands show the scars of clinging to the anchor of my Past Self too long and too aggressively. But there are no injuries that threaten my existence. There are no injuries that threaten the depth of my being. There is nothing that occurs that threatens to be life-threatening. I reemerge, stepping on to the bank of the river, like Casino Royale James Bond walking out of the teal blue water, dressed in a Euro-style Speedo and an I’m-the-sh*t-because-I’m-an-MI6-agent kind of bravado. I reemerge from the depths of my soul. I’m now back in Reality. And I take steps towards what’s next. Nay! I strut towards my future existence. Because I now possess the confidence that can only come from conquering some of my deepest fears. That swagger that speaks the body language of, “I just did that sh*t! And I didn’t die. Fear conquered. I better believe it!” I walk along the riverbank, then fire up my new car from Q. This Maserati doesn’t say, “Keep Distance” anymore. Because that old whip is sitting at the bottom of the river. This one says, in so many words, “Follow me. I know it seems crazy, but you can drive off the cliff too. You’re just gonna have to trust me. Or, better yet, trust in a force that’s greater than you. But, whatever you do, trust that you can make the leap into the river. Trust me, it won’t kill you. Well, let me clarify, this jump is most definitely gonna kill a past version of you. But that’s also the part of your being that belongs in the past. That’s the part of you that’s anchored to a previous existence. Trust me, your Future Self will save you. Don’t be afraid. You will survive the fall. You will reemerge. The fear you feel is an illusion, an attachment to a version of you who’s no longer there. Your Past Self is the one who’s afraid to perish. And that fear stemming from your Past Self is actually quite fair. Because your Past Self is going to die once you make this leap. You will never be the same after having faced these fears. To push through, please know that your True Self will survive. Your True Self will survive. Your True Self will survive. And you know this to be true. And you know that taking this leap is what you must do. You know that overcoming your fears is absolutely what’s next for you. Can’t you hear the voice of your own GPS guiding you?”