Where the Wild Loves Are

Photo: Chelsea Putnam

Thresholds. Each threshold of terror I cross gives birth to an undiscovered love—one that makes my heart beat to a new rhythm.

When I was little, I didn’t know how to make friends. I wrote letters to the kids I wanted to play with, sliding paper hearts into backpacks. That’s how I stumbled into writing—not from ambition, but longing.

Later, I became a yoga teacher. Not because I had a wild passion for pretzeling my body, but to face my fear of public speaking. After my training, I felt embodied for the first time. A shocking miracle I never thought to ask for.

I’ve almost drowned a few times. It’s not a particularly unique fear—the waves. But the memory of being held under still made my breath clench in ankle deep water.

That’s how fear works. Sometimes, it dresses up like logic and practically, whispering: not today. You’re busy today. Other times, fear wraps its fingers around your throat and steals your breath.

I let the terror puppeteer my choices for too long, living in Hawaii for five years without trying to surf once.

Until last week.

I crossed one of my biggest thresholds. The waves were sized for a five year old, and I still screamed my head off. I squeezed my eyes shut while a very patient friend pushed me into the waves. The board sliced through a thin sheet of water. I stood up, and it felt like a piece of my heart I left behind years ago returned, clicking into place. The last time I felt that much raw, unfiltered joy was when I slipped on my first pair of ballet slippers.

It makes me wonder—how many undiscovered loves are slumbering inside of us? Waiting just on the other side of the threshold. The deeper the fear carves into me, the more love and joy I contain on the other side.

There are thresholds everywhere. Saying, “I love you,” when your voice shakes. Traveling across the world. Speaking the truth when silence would be easier. Sharks. Sending your daughter off to school. The dentist.

One persons threshold is another persons comfort zone. There’s something beautifully human in the way we all carry keys to each other’s locked doors—offering an encouraging hand across the line.

My friend told me I’m a surfer of the heart. That emotional bravery is my comfort zone. I laughed, because it’s not comfortable. It will never be comfortable, but I’ve leaned into love enough times to know I won’t die from loss. The gift of repeated bravery, is that you learn how to breathe underwater.

We don’t need to cross every single threshold. But I think fear is a map—a map to our most unbridled freedom, our most divine love. Maybe it’s the key to rebelling against apathy, and remembering not only that we are alive—but what that really means.

Xx,

Your Friendly Neighborhood Scribe