First of July

After being in South Africa for about a month, somehow (I’m still not quite sure how), someone convinced me to do the Oribi Gorge Rope Swing, the world’s highest gorge swing. I’m still not totally sure how I found myself standing on the edge of the gorge, the heavy rope attached to my waist, but there I was. 

                   ...Twelve inches in front of me, the ground disappeared....

Cold sweat, a combination of nerves and the scorching heat, poured off me as I held on tightly to the thick rope that was soon to be my only point of contact with solid ground.

                                     “Ready?”

I don’t remember my answer to what seemed like a stupid question. How could I ever be ready to throw myself off a cliff to fall 165 metres towards the bottom of this beautiful, but deep gorge? An array of thoughts circulated in my head, blocking out the rest of the world – how had they managed to convince me to do this? What would it feel like to hurtle towards the ground? How loudly would I scream? Would my shoes fall off?! 

I drifted back to reality realising that it didn’t really matter how ready I felt…

                        “3…2…1…!”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!”

The worst bit was stepping off the solid surface, stepping away from what I could trust. The worst bit was stepping into thin air. The worst bit was the letting go.

I'm not good at letting go. Never have been. I'm a clinger - I like to stick to what I know, even if it hurts me. So, I have pursued relationships that I know are going to end up hurting, because I hope that maybe it'll change if I just hold on for a little longer. I have stayed in jobs that I know will go nowhere, because at least it's a job, and maybe I can hope that I will still get to where I want to be.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not telling you to let go of hope, as long as the hope is in the right thing. I mean, 

maybe you have to let go of the hope of getting married to a particular person in order to hold on to the hope of getting married at all.

           Maybe you have to let go of the security of a job that drains you in order to grasp the opportunity of a job that makes you come alive. 

           Maybe you have to walk away from a relationship that tears you down in order to have your eyes opened to one that makes you a better, happier person.

Argh but it's so scary. Amazingly scary. Because it's unknown. To let go, so often, means to fall, not knowing what is going to catch you or when.

People may tell you that it feels amazing to let go, that it’s refreshing and fulfilling. They’re lying. Oh, there are, absolutely great things about letting go. There is a freedom in it, and a new hope. But it hurts too. It doesn’t feel good. It's scary to go to that place where you can’t see ahead, but you know what? It’s so much better that being in the place where you're looking at a future that you‘ve invented for yourself and wondering why it’s not happening yet and when it will.

And it's always better to let go before you're forced to. Because it may hurt to let go, but it hurts so much more when your fingers have to be prised from the thing you're holding on to.

There is a song by one of my favourite Northern Irish singers, Foy Vance. It’s called ‘First of July’. To me, it’s a song about letting go.

I don’t feel particularly good

But don’t worry about me, I’ll get by

That was the last day of June

This is the first of July

It doesn’t disguise the hurt, but it also proclaims the hope. The hope of turning the page of the calendar, of accepting that it happened, but accepting that it is in the past, 

                         that was June, 

                                   and now 

                                          this is July.

(Thanks Foy)