What started two years ago as an inkling in my gut has grown to a gnawing in my stomach that keeps me from sleeping well. For the last week I have been eying my calendar and the 2:30p check-in with my supervisor. Today was the day to finally pull the ripcord.
The minutes ticked by slowly knowing that I was going to finally make this move. As we went to coffee I had this feeling like everyone passing me on the street was looking at me. They knew my secret. I was nervous. Nervous for what this meant vis-a-vis supporting myself financially (or not). Nervous what his reaction would be. (We have become pretty good friends these last six years.) Nervous because I do not know how to do this.
I almost did not do it. When he asked me how things were going, I came very close to saying, "Fine," and leaving it there. The fear was almost overwhelming but I remembered I had to run to the roar.
What does that mean? I am glad you asked (or at least in my head, I believe you are asking.)
When hunting gazelles, lions typically split into two groups; older and younger. The lions that are long in the tooth, so to speak, are not very fast. Their strength is not what it used to be and the only things they have going for them are their size and their roar. They typically hide on one side of a prairie in the tall grass where they are well hidden.
Across the field, at a considerable distance, the younger lions make their presence known. They are strong, fast, fierce, and deadly. But they are smaller than the older lions.
These younger lions methodically track the gazelles and trap them between themselves and the older, hidden lions. The gazelles are perfectly unaware of the older group. The younger lions then spook the gazelles who in turn run toward the tall grass. The older lions pop up, rear back on their hind legs, and roar their mightiest. This understandably scares the gazelles who spin around to run away, right in to the jaws of the younger lions. Had the gazelles kept charging towards the older lions – towards the fear - they would have easily outrun them all and escaped.
Run to the roar, my friends. I did. I told my supervisor it was time for me to move on. I had had enough. The closer those words got to the tip of my tongue, the louder the fear of the unknown became. I charged ahead, made it through, and am taking my first steps on the other side of it. It feels great.