Learning through fear...

... all because some peonies died

Hi there! I’m Karen, and here at On the Outside I write about navigating life with my compass of curiosity, courage and connection, going via adventure and healing. I live amongst the south Welsh mountains, with a hoard of books, a garden full of foxgloves and goldfinches, drinking tea. Basically, a hobbit. Wandering, not lost.

Subscribe to join me on this journey through the truth and beauty of the uncertain and the unknown. With tea.

While the peonies die, I examine, capture, write.

The peonies have started to drop their petals.

Perhaps they made a soft flump as they hit the kitchen table while I slept. There they remained, waiting for someone to see them in the morning light. The remaining flower shows her insides for the first time.

I reach for my camera, desperate to capture this death, this moment of inevitability. I reach for my pen, desperate to encapsulate the moment in words.

Of course, it won’t last. I know this in my heart.

That’s what makes it beautiful.

---

I’ve been asking a lot of questions lately. Am I brave enough to start something new? Can I remember that everyone doesn’t really care that much what I’m up to? Can I get through the awkward?

September will be the start of many new things. A new job, a new company, an entirely new and unknown path. Can I be comfortable with the unknown? With the uncertainty? This theme is growing in my life. Can I lean in, rather than try to control?

Perhaps there is something I can do to prepare. Venturing out towards that ledge, investing some time in learning, in remembering what it’s like to be a beginner.

Who would have guessed I would voluntarily learn maths in my spare time?

---

Tell a Beautiful Story — a poem

Shall I tell you of the girl who wanted magic and dainty slippers, and instead had exams, teenage boys and social pressure? 
How she dreamed of sparkle and mischief, and instead worried about what everyone else might think of her? 
How she wanted to dance and write and be whatever she wanted, and instead was what she thought everyone else wanted her to be? 
Maybe she just wanted to be herself. 
Not what she should be, or could be, or might be.
Just her. 
Just good enough. 
I'll tell you a story. A beautiful one. 
She's here. 
She's me. 
It turned out dainty slippers and sparkles were not needed. 
Just writing. 

---

Agapanthus and the sea, above the Minack Theatre in Cornwall

What is in my heart today?

A fear that tries to strangle me slowly, a tension that ties my shoulders to my ears, a dread.

But outside, the sparrow sings; less sings and more yells. He sits upon the security light, innocuous in his size, overpowering in his shouts, his indignation that I might occupy a space in his garden. What is he yelling? Is it a question? A statement? Just noise?

The others play in the drying cut grass, jabbing to find the insects, then jumping and hovering above the uncut grass. They see their perch, the too-tall dandelions, waving in the morning breeze, barely a breath. It will be a warm day.

Can I remember that this fear will pass? Once I am gone, said my goodbyes and moved on, will I be fine? Will I remember? The fear will be gone, lost into the grey sea of memory, to tangle in the seaweed and be dragged beneath the waves by strong currents of time.

There I will go, sinking into my ocean space, to sit on the ocean floor, in peace and stillness, and the images of this fear will return, before drifting back into the gloom, all a part of the tapestry of who I am.

---

The peonies cannot be captured. They cannot be contained. They are a breath, a moment in the past already.

I write, I scribble, my hand barely able to keep up. And I realise, as I contemplate uncertainty, learning to breathe and lean in and write, rather than run, that I have found a place called the ‘fertile void’. My ocean space. The place where creations come from, and where they return to, to become something else.

I do not need to worry about capturing the colour of the peonies just so, or how their death tugged at my heart. I do not need to worry about perfection. I will write something, I will learn, and I will write some more.

Even in writing this post, I have learned: I thought I was learning something new with maths and crochet; those things are true, but before that, with everything I write and post here, I have been learning.

It’s amazing what dying peonies can teach you.

Thanks for reading, for joining me on this journey.

K x

P.S. Thanks to

Mika

for writing a lovely piece about being brave enough to suck.

Am I brave enough to suck?

Enjoying this adventure and want to support my writing by becoming a patron?

You can upgrade your subscription here.

Or, you can tip me here.

This is part of Claire Venus’ Sparkle on Substack Essay Club. This is essay 10/24.

Go here to read more about it!