It’s Easter Sunday. I was sitting on the couch, calm and at ease, for the most part. Something told me to get up and write. I don’t have to know what it is about—in fact, I am trying to be more in the “not knowing” of life. The mind doesn’t necessarily like this method, however, I can already hear the thoughts…”wow, this is so peaceful. Can I finally relax?”

I try to follow the nudges these days, no matter what chores need to get done. My words are important. Or at least, so I am trying to believe. And in that belief I am trying to cultivate, I know there is a flow, or a channel I am hoping to tap into. But I drop it after I have the thought. Because to be in flow, you must drop every attempt to find the flow. It just is. You either lean in or you resist.

I’ve come to realize, I haven’t been afraid to fail. I’ve done plenty of that. It’s quite humbling and loaded with life-lessons. I’ve come to realize, I am deeply afraid to live up to my potential. I am afraid, that someday, when I am living out “pinch me” moments filled with a joy that bursts from my heart into the crack of my wide smile, a safety that holds me like a mother her newborn baby, laughter that pangs the belly and aches the cheeks, hugs that melt you into another you forget which is you, and a love so vast I can barely believe my heart holds the capacity for such rapture, that someday, I will have reached a place I never allowed myself to be. And in that place, will I still be me? Or will I cease to be all that I have known?

I know a life painted with love and with loss. I know a life decorated with the many doubts I write about myself. I know a life of abandonment—which I sometimes practice upon myself. I know a life of forgetting and remembering.

But I don’t know a life, spackled with binders of not knowing. I don’t know a life so deeply ascended into the well of my essence, the well of my being, that as I rise—ridding myself of my own demise—that I will finally begin. A life that gives the gift of never forgetting

to live.

And always remembering,

to forget

Into the Unknown,

Alex