History moves in leaps—not careful steps. Will you answer the call?
Leap
That’s the word echoing through me right now. A single, insistent whisper. A knowing. Now is the time to leap toward how I am meant to show up in a crumbling world.
Leap, trusting that the wings will appear or the rope will hold.
And even if they don’t, it will have been worth knowing I didn’t stay small inside the illusion of safety, standing still while the ground gave way.
Leap—to manifest my destiny rather than letting the tide of fear and control decide for me.
Just over a decade ago, I bungee jumped for the first time. I thought it would be easy. I spent a few years in college rock climbing and rappelling. I’m not afraid of heights. But standing on that bridge in the mountains of Whistler, BC, I realized something: climbing is about control, but it’s another thing entirely to hurl yourself into the abyss 160 feet above a rocky river that will not cushion the fall.
Humans aren’t meant to hurtle through the ar! My body knew this. I froze.
The young guy coaching me told me something simple but true: It won’t get any easier.
He was right.
No amount of standing on that bridge would dissolve the fear. The only way forward was down. And so, after what felt like an eternity, I dove. I dove!
(That’s me leaping! You can’t see the terror, but it’s there.)
It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was worth it.
I won’t do it again—but I will never forget the lesson: Even in the face of paralyzing fear, I can leap. I am capable!
The Cost of Not Leaping
I have also known the opposite of leaping.
I watched my father do everything he could to stay safe and in control. He was meticulous and cautious. Yet, for all his efforts, I never found his life inspiring.
I listened to my mother tell me not to be consumed by what I loved—even as her addictions consumed her. I watched her slowly snuff out her beautiful light.
Might it be better to go out blazing?
Neuroscientist Lisa Feldman Barrett explains that our brains aren’t wired for safety but for survival. The nervous system doesn’t distinguish between the fear of leaping and the quiet cost of holding back; it only tracks the toll. What feels like self-preservation can become self-abandonment—and when we abandon ourselves, we abandon the world.
Adrienne Maree Brown speaks of emergent strategy—the art of adapting and trusting that what we need will come as we move. She says, "How we live and grow and stay purposeful in the face of constant change" is what shapes us. The leap is not just an act of courage—it’s how we participate in our own becoming.
I decided 25 years ago that I would rather die than slowly fade away. Before that, I came close to death, but that decision pulled me forward. And yet, honestly, I haven’t been burning as brightly as I could. But over these past decades, I have built a foundation beneath me, and I have resourced myself well.
Now, it’s time to leap again. Time to blaze.
The World Is Calling Us To Leap
This is not just personal. The world is inviting you to leap, too.
We live in a time when old structures are crumbling economically, politically, socially, and environmentally. The safety nets we once trusted are faltering.
Jean Gebser wrote about mutations in consciousness—how history moves not in straight lines but in great leaps. And in every shift, some try to hold onto what was, and some surrender to what wants to emerge.
The ones who leap can help usher in a new world.
We are being called. Right now.
And yet, we hesitate.
Our nervous systems resist the unknown. We cling to what feels familiar, mistaking it for safety. Deb Dana, an expert in Polyvagal Theory, explains that safety isn’t the absence of risk; it’s the presence of connection. Read that again: Safety isn’t the absence of risk; it’s the presence of connection.
This means we don’t have to leap alone—we aren’t meant to.
We can hold each other through the freefall.
The world is in desperate need of my light. And yours.
So, I’ll ask you what Mary Oliver once asked:
"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"
I know what my next big leap is, and I’m scared! I’ve decided to take it before I hit publish, even though it frightens me because I’ve learned I can do brave things even when fear is present.
Trembling, I leap. Will you join me?
It will be terrifying. It will be exhilarating. It will be worth it.
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