I remember back in grammar school, learning to cross the monkey bars. At first, it was one rung at a time. Always holding on to the rung with one hand as you move the other hand to the next rung. There was always a hand on a rung. Always. And gradually, I learned to skip a rung or two, extending my reach, but never letting go with one of my hands. Soon, I would jump from one rung to another, stretching across most of the distance. In order to do that, I had to let go of the rung to reach the other side. It was scary in that moment, that moment of letting go. That moment when you didn�t know if you would reach the other side. That moment where you might fall, and sometimes did, ending up with scuffed knees, bruised cheeks, scraped palms. But the achievement of reaching the other rung always overrode the risk of getting there. The excitement of making it, the satisfaction of the achievement. The adrenaline rush in my gut as I grabbed on to the bar. It was worth it. But in order to get the second bar, you had to let go of the first.
I am reaching for two bars right now. It is scary to reach for them. I remember the feeling of standing on the steps, eyeing the bar I was stretching for, extending my grasp, seeing how far I could reach. Asking myself, would I make it? Never, would it be worth it, it always was. I am getting ready for my date with G. I am looking forward to it but scared as well. I have spent a morning reminiscing on B, remembering the shape of his arms, the feel of his fingers as he ran them through my hair, the way his hair stands straight up after 20 years of military haircuts, the feel of his lips on my cheek, the spots in his beard that will never fill in, memories of shrapnel. I understand that to grab onto G, I have to let go of B. But it is so hard. I fight the urge to call him, to e-mail him, to beg him to see me. I linger in bed this morning, wrapping his memories around me like a blanket. And then it�s time to get up, get into the shower and wash them all away.
The other bar is my career. I have held tightly on to the same job for so long. I am comfortable. But I am not content. But seven years on one bar, it�s hard to imagine holding another bar. How will it feel? How far away is the ground. If I jump, will I make it? I have my 2nd interview on August 5th, 2 days after my surgery. That�s kind of scary. Will they cut me some slack as I try to answer their questions through the fog of lingering anesthesia? Who knows. But that is the only day. The person who is interviewing me is flying down from Sacramento, that is the only day they will be in town. I will have to make it work. It�s scary that as I�m preparing to leave for my LOA, I am also preparing for the fact that I might not be returning.
It�s easier to let go when there isn�t so much to lose. Maybe if it was just one thing, I could let it go and jump and feel the thrill of not knowing. I could even close my eyes to see if I could grab the bar without looking. I had done that before. But with 2 things, 2 bars to let go of, 2 bars to grab on to, 2 chances to fall, it�s all rather scary and overwhelming. And exciting too.
