As I sit at my desk, list in hand, my palms sweating, my heart pounding, I have to wonder, what is the big deal? How is it that making a few phone calls to friends and supporters has me in such a tizzy?
After all, I’ve done much bigger, much scarier things. For example, I’ve given birth! After spending 9 months nauseous, ravenous, then waddling like a whale, I gave birth.
So what is inviting a few friends to a workshop on public speaking compared to that?
I spent hours roaming the hospital halls, howling like a wolf, falling to my knees, as the pains shook me.
So what is dialing a few digits, leaving a few awkward messages compared to that?
Having renounced the meds, I crawled on the bed, leaving bruises on my husband’s wrist, as we timed the hills and valleys of those contractions.
So what is fumbling thru a conversation, hemming and hawing my way thru the invitation, compared to that?
Then, the ‘no turning back now’ as I totally surrendered to the free fall, the stepping into the roaring river that was the beginning of the ‘push.’ The terrifying moment when I accepted that there was no way out but through. The final recognition that mothers have been birthing for a millennia and I knew exactly what to do.
So what is the possible rejection I might hear, the “I’m sorry I can’t make it,” or the “I don’t have the time,” or “don’t have the money,” compared to that?
And then, thru the haze of the doctor’s words, and my husband’s encouragement, the unbelievable sensation as an object the size of a cantaloupe began moving my thighs and somehow out into the world.
Seriously, Marianne, what is the big deal, compared to that?
At last, the exquisite, incomparable moment when they placed her on my belly for the first time. Voice hoarse, body exhausted, heart flooded. I stared at her – my daughter.
A friend picks up the phone, delighted to hear from me. “Yes.” She exclaims. “I’d love to come to your workshop.”
To birthing our dreams.