Sometimes my “Big Medicine” comes in surprising forms. I’ve become more patient over the last year. Some would argue its just age and I’m finally settling in a life that isn’t riff with insecurity and pessimism. I believe that’s where most of my impatience came from. But I believe my patience is growing because I’m now accustomed to having people in my life whose pace is a little different from mine. Mr. C has helped me find deep rivers of patience I never thought I possessed. Raising children didn’t teach me as much patience as standing quietly and waiting for tasks to be completed by a genius with his very own internal clock. I’ve learned just because something is completed on my timeline the world doesn’t crash to an end.
I’m a little more courageous too. One of my fears are snakes. I’m not just afraid of them, I’m terrified of snakes and walking through the deeper and denser grass that Sunday was a big endeavor for me. Especially alone. I had on long pants and boots I was reasonably protected but I wasn’t sure how fast I could move if I needed to get away from a snake. But I threw it out to the Universe to keep the snakes away as I trod through the grass. Hmm…was it courage or trust?
Courage is the strength to do something that frightens me. Trust is the knowledge someone or something is reliable, honest, and acting from a place of my own best interest.
It seems like this Big Medicine I’ve been ingesting over the last year is trust. I must trust Mr. C’s own sense of urgency because things do get done. Eventually. I must trust my steps through tall grass. I must trust Dr. Doctor with my physical safety as he attempts to scare up snakes in the piles of old wood and detritus around the ranch.
Last summer, maybe a two months into this still fledging relationship he took me out and made it a point to summon forth snakes so I could hear the sound and identify it outside of wind, grasshoppers or jack rabbits moving through spent tumble weeds and sage. I was terrified and I stood back about eight feet despite his beckoning me closer. I couldn’t do it. What if he found a snake? What then? I was more worried about doing something childish like crying or something old-fashioned like swooning. I am the woman who can’t go into a herpetarium without a full-fledged anxiety attack. That he didn’t roust a snake was a blessing that afternoon.
A couple of weeks ago when he doubled his efforts to show me a rattlesnake in a more “controlled” circumstance was greeted with less swoony feelings and with more grit. This wasn’t bravery I was feeling but trust. I can’t even name why I trust him more. Maybe it’s a matter of time? It’s not like I’ve watched him kill snakes. We’ve (luckily) never seen one when we are out together in the prairie. Maybe I trust my own reactions and ability to cope with snakes? I know I will feel panicked and probably cry but I will manage to get away from the snake without hurting myself or making the snake even more afraid and apt to strike at me.
The next step with this Big Medicine is trusting myself.