Edgework

 I had a Head of School at one of my former schools who used this term, Edgework, a lot. So I have to give credit to him for introducing this concept to me. I am paraphrasing, but he would say edgework is having one foot on solid ground - likely firmly planted in your comfort zone - where you know you're safe and if anything goes wrong you'll be okay. The other is dangling off the edge, willing to step into the unknown, unfamiliar, or even uncertain.

My favorite Peloton instructor says this a lot. I probably did not fully appreciate what she meant until earlier this year. I would have agreed, but I didn't feel it inside me like I do now. 

Leanne Hainsby-Alldis, and of course a few other favorites too, has been an important part of my life since September 2021. I actually got a Peloton bike when Oliver was facing a difficult surgery that was going to limit his movement and change the way he needed me. That is to say, he needed me around a lot more than was typical. I figured an easy way to cut out time apart was to workout at home - this coming from a girl who taught studio classes for years, and appreciated them as a client too.

I fell in love from the start. And I'd never even been on a spin bike in my whole life.

Peloton has been there for me much like a good friend. And that's because even on some of my most lousy days I show up to the bike. That doesn't always mean I'm taking a ride. And even if I am I'm probably not working out even close to the way I used to. Some days it's a meditation. Others it's a Barre class. And some days I feel good enough to pick up a light set of weights.

I've learned when I put in the time to move, I feel better - even if I still feel like garbage. I've realised it combats loneliness. And boredom too.

And whether it's made any difference at all to my situation, I feel stronger and it brings me joy. 

(and no I'm not getting some sort of kick back for promoting Peloton but I'm even more obsessed than I sound - ask around.)

Leanne (we're on a first name basis in my head) writes a weekly newsletter (if you feel so inclined, subscribe here), which she started about three months or so ago, and of course like her motivation on the bike I soak up her wisdom on the page.

So I wanted to share a part of her latest piece because it resonates so deeply this last week I'm on the west coast. She has battled cancer, yet she's referring to something totally different here. Despite the fact that she's talking about one thing, and I'm thinking about another, it felt powerful.

I'm standing right on the edge of change, not quite in my old world anymore, but not yet in the new one either. It's a strange space to live in. Physically, my body is feeling it (and for me we're talking massive anxiety), but emotionally I'm still catching up. Everything looks the same, but somehow, everything feels different. It's calm one minute, overwhelming the next. You can't focus, but you can't stop overthinking. A quiet hum of anticipation that sits somewhere between excitement and fear. I can feel it in my body - this mix of gratitude, nerves, joy, uncertainty, all wrapped up together...there's a lot of talk about 'new beginnings' but not enough about the waiting that comes before them. The bit where you're holding your breath, where you know life is about to expand in ways you can't prepare for...

Dare I say, there's a quiet grief in change too, even when it's the kind you've hoped and prayed for. You're saying goodbye to a version of yourself you've known so well. It's all going to look and feel different...just on the edge of it, I find myself nostalgic and a little sh*t scared at the same time.

I've loved this version of me, and I'm sure parts of me will always be there, but I can feel I'm ready to make space for something new. It's strange how you can feel so sure and so uncertain all at once. I've been trying to tell myself you don't have to have it all figured out to walk forward. You just have to keep stepping.

Change always asks something of us. It asks us to soften, to surrender a bit of control, to lower standards (we set upon ourselves) a little, to trust the ground will still be there when we take the next step. The last few weeks are the hardest to explain, but this is where it starts. Letting go. Becoming.