I dreamt that I was flying. I rarely have flying dreams, and this one appeared approximately three days after I consciously pondered my lack of experience with this classic archetype.

It was dusk, a common setting for my chimera, and I was flying over top of a paved runway littered with all kinds of absurd obstacles—mounds of dirt, craters of crumbled asphalt, broken fencing, stacks of waste metal, things of that nature. I was watching myself as a small, five year-old girl, make my way through all of this foolishness on my tiny bicycle. I eagerly traced my miniature accomplishments and marveled at my shrewdness in navigating the course, but kept wondering, “Who in the hell is letting this little girl do all of this on her own? Where is everyone else? This is so dangerous…how am I doing this on my own?”

But then I realize that I wasn’t alone. I’m not alone. There was someone keeping an eye the whole time, and goodness if they aren’t still up there, flying along a parallel path, just to be sure I’m carrying on as intended.

I had a dear friend and mentor come to my office with a message in hand. “Cynthia, can I speak to you for a second?” and he pulled me outside and passed me a book. “I have a sense that you’re going through something. I’ve been reading some of your stuff, and just generally paying attention, and I have a sense that you’re going through something. Here’s a book that I had given to me during time when I was in a similar place, and I really feel like it helped. I want you to know that you’re not alone.”

And just as soon as he arrived, he departed, so I returned to my desk to unload a few overwhelmed tears. He was so bang on, right, and I hadn’t even realized I was in such a state. It’s funny when other people can see not only exactly where you are, but can put you on track to precisely where you need to be. There is an art to delivering the gentle shove in the right direction in a way that it can be received. I was on the edge, he whispered for me to jump. So I did.

Three days later, I quit my job. As soon as he’d handed me the book, Reflections on the Art of Living: A Joseph Campbell Companion (an author I’d been introduced to three weeks earlier by another trusted guide), my instinctual response was to say, “It’s got to start with me getting out of here.” I knew I wasn’t positioned well as far as employment went. You know when you start seeing sides of yourself you wished you could say didn’t exist, and it’s like every single day there’s another alarm bell clanging away, shouting, “Ding, ding, ding – you’re wasting your time in the wrong place!” so loud you can hardly stand it any longer? Maybe you don’t, but that’s what was happening to me. I knew, in a sound and solid place in my soul, that in order to get myself in the right location, I had to get on that bike and ride and trust that someone was watching.

I guess it was a few years ago now that I decided I would always do what I loved. From where I sit, that’s a crucial commitment to make to oneself, but it’s just one cog in the wheel, an important turn, but not the definitive one. After you say, “Yes, ok, ok, I’m awake now, you’ve got my attention,” you’ve still got to find what it is you love and furthermore, get accustomed to being forced to take larger and scarier leaps of faith to get there.

I forget that though, and I have a tendency to linger on the edge a little too long. I used to do that when I was a teenager and we’d all go bridge jumping in the summer. I’d be so gung-ho, but when we’d get there, I’d have my swimsuit on apparently ready to rock, but I’d be hanging on to the railing, contemplating, as if waiting was going to change a thing. One time, I pulled this familiar routine and my frustrated friend stood behind me and screamed. Just as he planned, I got scared, shrieked, and finally, almost involuntarily, jumped off into the tender current of the river patiently waiting below.

Three weeks after I quit, I’m being offered an opportunity to take a step on board with something that’s ripe with seeds of infinite possibility and my stomach flips at the exciting potential for what lies ahead. I am so thankful I didn’t stay stuck clinging to that railing for one more minute, and thank goodness for the push. Sometimes the universe will do that to you. It has a funny, old way of whispering, shouting, pushing, and shoving you into the right groove on that gnarly looking trail ahead. Thankfully, if you’re paying attention, it will also send you a clear reminder that while you’re courageously pedaling away through the dimly lit unknown, look up and rest assured you’re well looked after.

Related posts:

1. Behind the Pages
2. For the Love of an Open Road
3. Life in Combat Boots: A “Girly-Girl” Joins the Army