The Rumble

I think a well-placed Jurassic Park reference is always valuable, don't you?

Dear Writer,

There have been points in my life when I’m on the cusp of major transition, and I’ve always felt it like that moment in Jurassic Park when the surface on the water begins to rumble, and it’s a small thing in and of itself, but you know what it means.

It means the Big Thing is coming.

It’s been a while since I’ve felt this in a way that wasn’t also accompanied by terror and panic and not being sure what the hell was going on. In other words… it’s been a while since the rumble was internally generated, rather than externally generated.

But I remember feeling this… hmmm. How would I describe it? Positive unease? Is unease a word, even?

<Googles>

Yes, yes it is.

And I have it. Positive unease, the low-hum of anxiety I feel when I’m about to drastically change my life in a deliberate and wanted way. I know things are changing, and I know I’m making them change. I know the changes are good and chosen and deliberate. I mean, people who choose to bungie jump must feel that even as they stand on the edge of the bridge they have every intention of jumping from, and they know they’re going to love it. I imagine there’s still a moment of positive unease, the lizard part of your brain that is shouting, “Not safe! Not safe! Not safe!”

But here’s the thing; there are different kinds of safety, and one of them is counterproductive.

I believe in physical and emotional safety. Things or people in our lives or environments that hurt us repeatedly are bad, and we should get away from them. But there’s a different kind of safety that is presented as safety, but isn’t really safety; it’s just anti-risk, and anti-risk is anti-growth.

And growth… I mean, hell. If you’re not gonna grow what are you even here for?

I’m about to take some big risks in my life. I’m changing my business model. I’m (hopefully) quitting my day job, selling my house, moving… somewhere. I don’t know where yet. I’m trading a predictable, anti-risk life for a life that is full of risk and I literally can’t wait.

But… also…

I’ve never really been an anti-risk kind of person. My entire life has been pretty high-risk. I mean, I won’t jump off a bridge with my ankle attached to some cord, because I do not personally understand why anyone would do that ever but a lot of people don’t understand why I do what I do so you do you, babe, if that’s you.

I’m sorry. What was I saying? I got distracted by my extreme anxiety at even thinking about jumping off a bridge.

Anyway. Yes. I’ve lived my entire life in risk and some of it has worked out great and other times I married a sociopath¹. And because of that one monumental disaster, my response to the risk-meter tipping a bit is to have a complete anxiety attack.

That happened this morning, when I realized that I really want to write again. Like… novels. Proper fiction. I’m having story ideas, which I haven’t had like this in a long time. When the How Story Works book is out² I’m going to hit the ground running with all my plans to make it possible for me to quit my job and sell my house and go off to a place where I can live quietly and cheaply and just create for a living.

That’s the dream. And it’s happening. I am making it happen.

I am the rumble. The rumble is me.

And it’s all going to be okay.

Everything,

L

1. You know, there’s this little voice in my head that keeps saying, “Shut up about your trauma, nobody cares,” but no, I’m not going to shut up about my trauma because when I do, it validates the part of me that believes that what he did is my shame, so I talk about it to shut that voice up and if you’re sick of hearing about it, then I apologize, but I need to not validate that voice. Kiss kiss.

2. As you read this, as I’ll be doing my final YouTube creative sprint to finish the book between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m. EST on October 9, come join in!