Back in high school, I had exactly one driving lesson with my father. It was a barren, bright morning in the vacant lot of a nearby state park. I learned quickly that I did not have a knack for making that big ol' Buick smoothly stop and go. Apparently, despite there being two pedals on the floor--and us drivers (and wannabe drivers) having two feet--I wasn't allowed to use them at the same time. This was a fact that boggled my 15-and-three-quarters-old brain. Still, I drove around the parking lot that way--left foot stop, right foot go. It an unpleasant experience all around. Jerky and stressful and confusing for us both. Being that my feet were largely hidden in the wheel well, I continued with this approach, even after being told otherwise. Not only did two pedals and two feet seem like it should be a given, the stop-go-stop-go technique felt like the safer option to me.
Eventually, I enrolled in driver's ed and learned the right way to get around. But it took me a while to shed that instinct to tap the brake at the littlest flicker of concern. Now I could retrace the last 30-plus years of my life and probably point out hundreds of instances of me tapping the metaphorical brakes. Or I could just fast-forward to the latest and most relevant one: moving forward in my personal life.
I'm all for minding the signs and paying attention to the signals--literally and metaphorically. But I can feel that old instinct to hover my foot over the brake, to insert little halts when unnecessary, creeping in--just as life starts to get a little more unexpected. A little more interesting. Riding the brake is a fear-based action. Sure, it may seem wise at first, but it's no way to smoothly move forward.
There’s a time and a place for caution and there’s a time and a place for letting go of the restraints. I've decided to let go of the restraints.
In the days following my breakup, I replaced the family photo on my desk at work with this quote:
"Step into uncertainty--today and a little bit every day. That is how an epic life is lived."
At first these words served a bit of a fake-it-'til-you-make-it purpose. But after a few weeks of reading and rereading these words, I believed them. I embodied them. I began to welcome the mystery that lay ahead. And now--that feeling of being smack-dab in the middle of a Choose Your Own Adventure book is the most alive I've felt in a long, long time.
I haven't a clue what next turn of the page has in store for me, but I can tell you it's an exhilarating way to be living my life right now. It reminds me of the long, winding road that led to my old neighborhood back where I lived in those early days of driving. It dipped and curved endlessly and erratically, like the scalloped edges of Valentine made by a child. Once I became comfortable behind the wheel, there was nothing I loved more than touring all of that road's curves, never really knowing what lay around the next bend but trusting myself to handle it all with grace. Without obsessing over the brake.
In a moment today when my head and my heart were having a bit of a private debate over the brake metaphor, I came across this piece on the HBR blog: How to Have a Year That Counts. Its simple, elegant reminders to (1) start with your dreams, (2) walk toward the fire, (3) venture beyond certainty, and (4) let life happen were all the confirmation I needed that yes, it is time to get out of my head and experience life outside of my comfort zone. It's time to take my foot off the brake. That's where my story will start to get interesting . . .
