Holbox.

I walked a long way on a sandbar in Isla Holbox, Mexico. I started that journey at exactly low tide, trudging along with two of my three children, and another child of my heart, in calf-deep water for more than several miles to a sand breakwater that was easily a half-mile offshore. Once there, we then walked another few miles to a nature preserve, in search of flamingoes but instead finding only sandpipers.

My companions, at twenty-something years on this planet, were easily buoyed by the water; I was concerned about a rising tide with us far from land, about creatures unseen to my eye including sea urchins at my feet, and about the setting sun in 365 degree panorama on a colder day in this part of the Yucatan.  

My forever protective role threaded me towards inaction.

Return to safety. Return to shore.

For me here was the holdback:  Freedom to fly is occasioned with the knowledge that when you’re falling, it feels like flying.  

Which was it?

We continued: Our return land path involved swimming through a strong current, wading thru brackish mangroves, walking around barbed wire, and a sun setting on our climb over and under and through the water’s edge.

To create life on purpose, by design, and with intent, is a freedom terrifying in the moment and wonderous in the accomplishment.

Do Hard Things.

And do them SCARED in good company.