People who know me well could probably think of a variety of adjectives with which to describe me, but I'd be willing to bet that, "daring," would not be one of them. (I base this assumption on the high frequency with which I have been described as, "risk-averse.") In some ways, my cautiousness is an asset--it protects me from danger and unnecessarily risky situations. However, lately I have been thinking that although it keeps me safe, it also undeniably keeps me stuck.
On the one hand, if I have to be stuck somewhere, the life I currently lead isn't a terrible place to be. I have a job doing what I love to do; I live in a satisfactory apartment in a safe, clean neighborhood; I have amazing parents whom I get to see almost every weekend. I have in place many of the pieces that make up the picture of a functional, fulfilling adult life. And, for nearly a decade, this has been enough for me. In fact, for a long time this stable life of mine was all I wanted--as I worked my way through early recovery, I couldn't imagine that I would ever be able to do anything truly daring, nor did I want to. Even once my recovery was more secure, I felt it would be foolish to uproot myself from the support system I'd put into place--surely, such a move would cause me to unravel. So, I've stayed put, safe in my little flower pot of sorts, growing as tall as I've been able with roots that are limited in how far out they can extend.
But now...I think I might have outgrown the flower pot.
Don't get me wrong, I don't want to just throw away everything I've worked so hard to build, but I can't deny that I feel constrained and restricted to a life that is just okay, as opposed to a life that is great. But, herein lies the problem: moving from okay to great requires change, uncertainty, and a willingness to take chances. None of that dovetails so nicely with my lifelong history of risk aversion. When I think of making dramatic life changes--moving, changing jobs, etc--part of me feels alive, excited, and smiley while another part yells things like, "It's stupid to leave a stable situation!" And then, there is the quiet yet persistent voice that whispers, "What makes you think you deserve to be any happier than you are?"
My recent struggle with safety-vs-growth has led me to reexamine the Midrash about Nachshon, the Israelite who was brave enough to venture into the Red Sea before it split, thereby proving to Hashem that the Jews were a people of courage. As risks go, that was about as significant as it gets, and the other Israelites probably thought Nachshon was crazy to leave dry land to plunge headlong into roiling, uninviting waters. But in the end, it was Nachshon's courage that allowed the Jews to survive.
This doesn't mean that taking big chances is always a good idea. For sure, some risk-takers are met with disappointment. But it's also true that a life of positive growth requires a willingness to step into the unknown. An article I read on the Midrash of Nachshon explains,
"Surely risks must be calculated and carefully planned, but without an element of uncertainty nothing can be accomplished. There is no authentic life choice that is risk-free."
Recovery, for me, is about living an authentic life, about believing that I do deserve to feel more complete and satisfied than I do right now. What have I done all this work for, if not to grow up and out as much as possible? As I start to make plans for the future, I hope that I am able to channel some of Nachshon's courage to take risks (calculated and planned ones, of course). As Rebbe Nachman said:
"The whole entire world is a very narrow bridge. And the most important thing is not to be afraid."
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