The Only Way Out Is Through

First published on April 15, 2021

I once wrote about the moment between the trapezes. The idea that when we're growing, there's an uncomfortable moment where our stomach is in our mouths, as we've let go of one trapeze and we don't know for sure that we're going to catch the next one (even though we always have before).

The problem with that metaphor, it occurs to me now, is that a trapeze artist (in my mind/in Robin's origin story, at least) is graceful. Whereas in real life, when you're between the trapezes as your life changes or you change from who you were into who you're becoming, it feels like a massive fucking mess.

It doesn't feel like the graceful gymnast, it feels like the person who has fallen off a cliff and is flailing madly to try and catch onto something or perhaps, if they're lucky, suddenly learn to fly so they don't crash to their death on the rocks below.

Mostly, though, no matter how much we wish we could, we can't go back. I had a moment yesterday, of dissatisfaction, of feeling like I was flailing madly/really hoping I suddenly learned to fly. It was 'Oh, I just want to quit all this stuff and be somewhere quiet and alone.' And when I say 'all this stuff', I mean my work, my family, literally ALL THIS STUFF.

Of course, I've had those moments before, maybe once a year since I set on this particular path. And I know, really, that I'm not going to quit. At least, not yet. At least, not most of those things.

The problem is, I can't go back. I can't unsee what I've seen about myself and the world as I grew and developed, even though it would be easier if I could. I can't go back to caring less about people, or about honour, or about myself, or about those I love. I can't go back to seeing the world more in black and white and less in grey, no matter how preferable and safe it is. I can't step back into an ideology through which everything looks simple - and aren't ideologies GREAT?! I mean, they tell you exactly what to think about everything and everyone. But the problem is, I've seen how flawed they are; I've seen how unsimple the world is. And so now I have to keep going.

As my sister once reflected, the only way out is through.

Really the only choice, once we've set on the journey of growth, is to see it through. Is to trust that, even though we are flailing like a mad person, the other trapeze will appear, and we will grasp it, and in a few months or a few years we will feel like the gymnast again, and we might even forget that moment where we just, really wished we could learn to fly, so that this whole thing would be easier.

Sometimes these moments of growth are thrust upon us with the redundancy or the divorce or the death in our life, showing us something different which we can't unsee. Sometimes we choose them, deciding to step outside of who we are and into a journey of growth becuase it's time. Sometimes we choose them and they are thrust upon us (I'm thinking of the small, fiery-haired girl who has recently moved into my flat and changed only everything).

And the reason it feels like we're flailing as we fall to our deaths is actually that everything is changed now. Suddenly, all the stability we need to survive in the world feels unstable. Everything is up for grabs. Everything looks different.

I imagine that at times like this, those with deeper faith than I can probably relax more into the fall. That's where my envy of them comes from, really. But that's not me, at least not now. I can't magic up a trust in the universe (or at least, I haven't managed it yet, despite everyone from coaches to priests to me saying it's kind of possible).

And so, instead, I keep taking breaths.

I keep touching into the greater things I am part of.

I keep returning to art, to music, to nature.

I keep making the best choice I can each day.

I keep looking for the insights that will help me create more stability, a little part of me, perhaps, that can grab the next trapeze, or a part of me that can learn to fly.

I keep writing.