Star Hauling

The light of starry dreams can only be seen once we escape the blinding cities of disbelief.  ~Shawn Purvis

Last year, Heather, of Running With Heather, and I took a trapeze class. It’s been a life-long dream (or perhaps a past life) that I was involved with the circus. So without hesitation, I signed us up for a high-flying lesson.

my booty, scared as hell, at the bottom of one very tall ladder

The trapeze rig pushed high into a wind-blown blue sky and the ladder swayed like a tree trunk. The rungs to the top were wet and cold, and my first time up, I feared I would not make it to the top. Once at the top, I feared I could never grab the far-away bar. Once the bar was in hand, I feared I would never be able to leap from the platform.

Fast-forward to two months ago, January, when I posted what I wanted my Washington life to look like. Like I was going to shape the damn thing out of modeling clay and fire it in my oven along with my beets. Ha.

Guess what? I’m doing it. And last week I read this quote by Meg Keene: “When you look at someone and think, ‘Wow, their star is really rising!’ What you don’t know is that they are hauling up the star themselves, by hand.” So this is me, one rung further up the ladder, dragging my heavy-ass star over my shoulder, the extension cord waiting to be plugged in, the star, waiting to be illuminated.

If you’ve been here, you’ve seen Wild Mustard, in all of her awkward teenage glory. She’s got a bit of sprucing to do, but she and I are hitting a stride now. Whereas I–for three years, mind you–kept telling myself that I needed X number of days to just sit down and knock another revision out, I’m finding that my daily commitment and small publication portions eases my mental and time burdens. Little. Little successes.

In yoga, I have, for the first time in years, kicked up successfully into my handstand. Two weeks ago, I gloated with a grin while the blood rushed to my head. I kicked up again without fail. The following week, I’d lost my mojo again, and it was enough to make me curse in class. This week, I tried again. Voila! Up and away, there I went, accomplishing something that I thought for years was beyond me. I have tried this pose almost weekly for four years and failed every single time. Except these two. And again in the future, I’m sure.

And Heather, of Running with Heather? Well, we actually got to run together–in person! In Washington, no less! I’ll have the Running with Heather update soon to prove it–and this time, she’s not a figment of my imagination. I’m three miles into my five-nine range, and I’ve got my sights set on this series of trail runs. SD Ladies: I hate to say it, but read ’em and weep.

Also. Guess what? I can eek out five regular push-ups followed by twelve girly ones. Times three. Heather watched me in awe as my fingers pressed into my unvacuumed carpet. “Wow” she said. And meant it. She’s spent half a life trying to watch me push up.

And, I’ve mastered the art not of a stove-top espresso machine, but of a french press. Tony’s Carmelito coffee is so damn good, and my execution so near perfection, I want to make cups at night. But then I also want to sleep, so, there’s that little hiccup.

All these little shouts of minute success? It’s like the trapeze: I’d wanted to fly like that my whole life, but when the goal was literally in my hands, I froze. Freaked out. I could hardly  hear the instructions for the wind in my ears and the blood in my brain. I was supposed to jump when the instructor yelled “HUP!” but how the hell would I do that? I could hardly even make it up the ladder to the platform. But, I remember now, clear as that day was blue, how I forced one foot in front of the other, hand over hand, and exalted in tiny accomplishments: I made it half-way! I’m at the freaking TOP! I’m grabbing this heavy ass bar! I’m swinging with abandon. And even now, when I watch this video–yes, that is my circus act, perfecting a catch on my first try–it gives me goosebumps.

I’m going to watch it one last time. Then I’m going to hit my nasty brown carpet to grunt through some push-ups and work on a chapter of Wild Mustard. I’m scrambling up ladders, stars in tow.

Note: I couldn’t have done any of this without your lovely inspiration, dear readers and  fellow bloggies! Tell me, inspire me more: what little goals are you conquering? Into what sky are you hurling your stars?

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