Allowing all parts of me to catch up...

I'm always amazed at the power of gravity.

What goes up must come down. In this case, the coming down is a giant let down.

When you complete a big task, filled with challenges, obstacles, failures and brick walls, it's exciting and thrilling. A great triumph and a fantastic achievement.
But then comes the depression. The goal is accomplished, the job is done. All the energy now is in limbo, waiting for another channel. That transition is just shitty.

That's where I'm at: I'm coming down from pushing with everything I had. Going against the grain requires a double-time effort. Two thoughts for one, two desires to do something different to one comfort zone. After a while, you're running on pure adrenaline and the faster heartbeat becomes second nature.

But you get up the hill, cross the valley and make it. The top is so pristine and beautiful and yet so jarring. The hardest thing about succeeding is not making it to the top, but staying there. That's why athletes briefly celebrate championships and quickly talk about next year. They have the luxury to run down the mountain and start the trek up again.

I've been looking for the item that I need. I'm in the right grocery store, in the right section and now, I'm in the right aisle and I found it. What next? What's the next item on my list? The satisfaction I felt about my accomplishment is now tempered with WHAT'S LEFT. I've been avoiding that like the plague, but now the air at the top is thin and as I look back and I squint forward, I realize how tired I am, how sad I am of all the roots I clung to as my identity are uprooted (and now further shaken by earthquakes and other acts of God) and how far I really am from home.

I'm slightly ashamed about how I got here. I'm embarrassed when I tell people that I just packed two suitcases, wore my maroon shorts with holes on the airplane and just came. I'm nervous to tell people how I did it, not because it's a feat of greatness, but just simple stick-to-it-ivness. I wish I had the gravitas to tell you about all the arguing I did while driving to and from USC. I knew I was leaving, but over and over and over, the question was asked. "Are you sure?" Can you do this? Do you want to do this? What if you fail? What if you really fail? What will everyone say? What will you tell yourself to keep going? Does God have a death wish against you?

When I finally heard a yes with resonance, it was faint, squeaky, like a 12-year-old going through puberty. It wasn't mature, but it wasn't the same anymore.

Having people say "wow, that's bold" or "you took a leap of faith" re-emphasizes not the strength of my faith or boldness but rather its fragility. As things slow down and routine takes a seat next to you on the Metro, there is a moment of sheer panic. Change is the bridge, not the journey. I have reteach myself to walk with the 9 to 5 and learn to replant. So hard, so hard.

Now I know why most people don't take risks and don't do things that require sacrifice: It's not the risk that's scary, it's the realization that you might succeed.

But I must say, I discovered a superb coffee house in Gettysburg, PA yesterday. Called the Ragged Edge. For that alone, I'm glad the vision came and I followed.