You're doubting yourself while others are terrified of your potential

jump.

"Achilles Lamenting the Death of Patroclus" (c. 1760–1763), by Gavin Hamilton

And now,

as I find myself expanding out of the goo and into my new form, the light feels harsh and the breeze feels cold.

I look back at the cocoon I made, the one I’m so very proud of, and for once, I feel nostalgia. The place I used to dwell, the place I painted walls and hung up photos, where I sprayed lavender on the sheets and lit candles in every room.

I know every inch of this cocoon I spun for myself. I know how each emotion feels, and just how much I have to do in order to stay where I am, right now, which is so much farther than I’ve ever been before. I built my cocoon to keep me safe, to cushion the blow of heavy emotions and block out my ringing ears with thick wads of cotton. I wrapped myself tightly around my precious dreams; I held them so close to my chest I thought they would press through my ribcage and nestle next to my heart, drumming along to my now-steady breathing.

Night of the Shooting Star (2020) by Polish artist Rafał Olbiński

I could scream as loudly as I wanted

and nothing would break; I could sleep for days and be sweetly surrendered to another realm.

My incubator for the dreams I was too afraid to murmur out loud, lest the devil that is practicality should hear and drive me away in shame.

I slept so long, I returned.

I understood, clearly now, that this world, the one that surrounds me, is not enough. My desires and preoccupations are too loud to ignore the obvious truth: A low burn will never produce enough heat to keep me warm. I have to scorch the earth, become the cosmic explosion that forms a new kind of gravity.*

*I’ve always known this, but if you had asked me before to say it out loud, I would have stammered. Cheeks fuming, I would have bit my tongue.

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"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept." The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams Bianco

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The fear and the loathing.

I think of all the times I was told to be reasonable, practical, to set myself up for success.

I immerse myself in these memories, an ice bath, until my fingernails puncture the skin of my palm and I didnt even realize I was clenching my fists. What is a life, if not lived! Why would I ever want to fall back on anything, when I could fall forward, instead?

Oh, how I have hated myself for all the times I have surrendered to the seduction of comfort, the lies and siren songs of pitiful practicality.

Illustration by Yoshitaka Amano for animated short film 1001 Nights (1998)

I don’t belong in a cocoon anymore. And that may be a freakish feeling, but at least it is mine.

Because I would rather be terrified, a child whimpering with her arms outstretched in the pitch black, than stand in the light of day with that low, sour pit in my stomach that grows each time I fall short of who i am. Who I know I could be.

My greatest fear is that pit will grow, fester, livid and acidic, consuming me from the inside out, like a worm boring through a rotten apple.

"I am your half"

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I imagine that I’m standing at the edge of a very long cliff, at the edge of a jagged peak that looms above the ground. I stand with my feet webbed with rocks and earthen rind, and down below, I see you. In pools of moss, green eyes glinting in the moonlight, you wait.

When I look at you I realize I have no fear of heights.

I will jump not when I’m ready, but when I don’t think about it at all.
I don’t think it will feel like a leap; I think it will feel like flying.

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With great personal aesthetic,
Alexandra Diana