I learned to do an aerial a few years ago.

I want to clarify that this is not about me being good at gymnastics- I'm not. Whatever the absolute shittest version of an aerial is, with bent legs, and flailing arms is, that's how I look doing an aerial. But I learned something about life that I want to share here.​
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An aerial is basically a cartwheel, but you don't use your hands. So it's a flying cartwheel. It LOOKS like a physics-defying cartwheel, but it's actually a physics-obeying cartwheel.

You have to be moving fast enough for your feet to leave the ground, to fly through the air, and for you to be able to land on your feet. If you stand at the edge of where you want to jump and 'mmmtph' and 'I don't know about this' and toe the ground bashfully and then after an hour of deliberation decide to try it but only with one leg so as to not get hurt.

Guess what?

You're going to get hurt.

I know this sounds like bad news for people who move slowly or who tend to be (unlike me) a little more cautious in their decision-making, but I promise its not.

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Here's why:

I'm not actually talking about gymnastics.

It's energy that we're talking about here. It's LIFE that we're talking about here. There are so many things that you want, or think about, or dream of. There are things that you're probably just embarking on now that require just a full-hearted commitment to get going. There are things you're standing at the edge of wondering if you have the strength/ drive/ fortitude/ guts to jump. You cannot have ANY of these things if you only commit a leg, or a toe. That often feels so scary because it feels like the only way to get them is to jump when you're terrified. It feels so unsafe because you're watching other people taking flying leaps and think you have to do it their way.

But that's not true.

None of these things require you to move at a pace that isn't your own, because this is MAGIC gymnastics. The thing that gets you flying in the air is catching your own heart-path-pace, whatever that looks like. That's the thing that makes you buoyant. That's the thing that makes you FLY.​
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I was chatting with a friend a week or so ago. One of my feet has already left the ground with something I'm doing, and she took a deep breath and said "I just want you to be careful. I want you to think this through. I want you to hold yourself back a bit more. I don't want you to get HURT, Rebecca."

My heart constricted. Because, fuck, of COURSE that fear is there, hovering behind and around me. It's there like a monster in a body of water that I'm trying to leap over. I can feel its hot breath warming my toes as my feet leave the ground and I tuck my arms into my chest.

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I have two best friends. Both of them are brave in ways that inspire me daily. One is the bravery of a structured achiever who takes calculated risks, commits to them 100%, makes them as perfect as possible before putting them out into the world. That's when her feet leave the ground. She lands perfectly, almost always. The other does aerial after aerial. Some of them are messy and some are spectacular and some are feats of physics defiance that render me mute with awe at her power. Some of them are more calculated than they appear; many of them are not (but don't tell anyone I told you that).

I called the latter after the 'be careful' conversation. I felt funny. It's not that I'm not aware of the risks, but something about being reminded to pay attention to them felt uncomfortable to my heart.

She pointed out that we never tell each other to be careful. That we never try to protect each other from hurt.

"We trust ourselves and we trust each other. Telling you to be careful is like telling you to stop trusting yourself."

I mulled it over. It's true. I thought about the world of our friendship, and the things we've navigated together. Like all best friends, we've held each other through some absolute triumphs, and also at times been the twine holding the other together in total and utter collapse.

Through all of it, holding her as she's wept, I've never once thought 'I wish she'd been more careful.' I often think 'This woman is the sun and I'm so fucking proud to be witness to her open-hearted bravery'.

Because in reality, if she weren't feeling this, then she'd be living a half-life. Moving at a pace not her own.

She wants to be doing aerials. It doesn't even matter whether they all land perfectly, because it's the feeling of flying that makes life good.

Same goes for me.​
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***
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The more you get used to doing aerials, the more you can tell when you're going to land it and when you're going to crash.

There are usually multiple factors at play (alignment being one of them) that determine whether you land or not. But the consistent thing that will cause a crash landing (or not even getting your feet off the ground in the first place) is not having momentum.

That's why tuning into your own path is so damn important.

Because every single person in your life is going to have a commentary on what and how you should be doing it. How fast you should be moving, how hesitant you should be. When people voice their concerns and fears, they're going to be things you've thought of already. They're the hounds nipping at your heels, the sharks circling in the water. You know they're bloody well there, you're the one trying to gather momentum to fly over them in the first place.

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So what helps?

I hope you're not tired of me saying it, because I'm going to say it again. Your own heart path is what helps. Feeling the connection to yourself. Knowing how it feels to be on the right path for you, no matter what it looks like. No matter what your brain says.

When it looks like it's not going to land, or when you lose sight of the ground, you focus on the feeling of your own path even harder. When you're CONVINCED it's not happening and you want to stop immediately even though your feet are already in the air, you remember that you're already flying and can trust what's carrying you, wherever it's going. ​
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When you have a connection to your own heart path, its not EASY to ignore the voices of the people around you, but you do have something else to tune to again once your freak-out dies down.

"Oh yeah," you get to say. "That's what I'm doing. That's what I'm here for. That's what I'm running towards."

"I don't know where this is going. But I know that it's where I'm being guided to. Whatever that looks like, however it turns out. This is where the pulse of my own heartbeat is leading me, and if I can't trust my own heart then I can't trust anything."

That's what allows your feet to leave the ground, and your arms to tuck into your sides. That's what allows you to take off without even thinking about the hounds or the sharks, not because you aren't aware that they're there (of course you're fucking aware that they're there!) but because they're unimportant when what truly matters, what really matters, what is the most important thing of all, is the feeling in your heart when you catch air and you take off flying, leaping, soaring open-heartedly into your own future.

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Big, flying, acrobatic hugs,

Rebecca

ps. Do you want to learn how to connect to your own heart path? Book in for a session, or I have one 1:1 spot for a 3-month mentorship where you can have guidance into truly living this (hit respond to inquire about the long-term spot, or book in for a session HERE). If none of the times work for you, email me-- I'm in the UK till October and can be flexible on times.

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