streeeeeeeeetch...

The past three days have shifted me into my burgeoning identity as a counseling intern at my amazing placement for the 2013-14 school year. I have just gone through three days of training ... learning about the mission and identity of my placement, their people, their goals, their methods, their procedures. I have been awash in "new" ... and am beginning to grasp what my role will look like within the walls of this great agency. It's an amazing feeling. I feel blessed to be welcomed into this work!

I was thinking about the word "training" ... and furthermore the kind of stretching it demands if we are wanting to move into a new role, a new lifestyle. "Training" reminds me of times in life where I was working toward a physical goal (like managing to run 3 miles ... it happened once)! I am reminded of sweat (ugh, I *don't* like sweat), the repetition of making a new habit, of being accountable to someone other than myself, and just moving forward -- even when I would have much rather stayed in my comfortable old routines.

(Was I ever THIS ripped? No.)

I did not find myself sweating or huffing and puffing too much as I sat around the training room conference table, nor did I find it too physically laborious to watch all those training videos and take those tests to prove that I generally know how to avoid setting the break room on fire. I did, though, find myself ready to be up and moving after those long "sits." Though it uses an entirely different part of my brain and intellect, I found myself not used to being seated in a chair for such long spells. It was physically difficult to be seated for that long. Life with my kidlings involves a lot more moving, crawling, twisting, lifting and being climbed on than the average three-day non-profit orientation.  While I was taking in all of this new vision and information about the kind of work I'll be doing, though, something else was definitely stirring and stretching ... my passion for counseling, my nerves for wanting to do a good job, my heart for the people I will be serving.

Some of these stretches are exciting because you feel ALIVE. You feel oxygen reaching those muscles and it moves through your body and you can feel your heart pumping and you feel somehow ... completely connected. All systems are moving toward something ... something good.

Some of those stretches are kind of terrifying because they have the potential to HURT. Am I going to be able to *do* this? Am I in over my head? Can I do this kind of work and not bring up all my personal junk and baggage? There's the "good hurt" the next day from a job well done, sometimes, but what if this is not the good kind of hurt? What if it's the kind where I make sizable mistakes, unintentionally hurt others or completely embarrass myself... I don't even want to consider some of those possibilities!

Well, simple answer: There are no guarantees all the stretching will feel good. 

But I have to stretch anyway.

(You *know* I never look this at ease doing yoga in the church basement.)

If I stay in my comfort zone, in my areas where things are easy and routine and relaxed, there's still some potential for good things to happen, sure. But there's not a lot of trust in the process. There's not a lot of trust in myself. Then there's becoming overly careful ... quickly followed by my ugly tendency to want to do things perfectly, and then berate myself when they don't play out that way. There's my tendency to want things planned out enough that I don't have to be spontaneous or follow the flow of what's playing out in front of me. Leading to ... pat answers, a lack of inspiration and openness ... and disconnection.

Sure ... it might be safer that way. But it will also be it's own kind of stress, and it's own kind of soul-suck.

I am reminded of the scars my body holds from having two children. Those stretch marks ... the ones that all mothers are supposed to slather with shea butter and weird lotions because we're supposed to be ashamed that we (no longer? ha!) look like airbrushed, flat-tummied super models? Yeah, those ones. I sometimes miss my pre-baby tum, but as time goes by, I'm increasingly proud of the way my body stretched and changed to adjust to the amazing task of growing those babies. Those stretch marks tell a story. One layer on top of another. One baby who sat high, and one who sat low. One who made her marks as she exited, and one who made his marks while in utero. One imperfect little 5'2 mama body that stretched and grew to accommodate those little ones ... and then, though it didn't magically snap back into place, it went on to do more great things. It fed those babes for many a month. It learned to wrestle, carry, lift, crawl and play on the floor all day. By the world's standards, it may not look *hot* in a bikini ... but it's still pretty damn miraculous what all that stretching accomplished.

(Life leaves a mark!)

So I am consciously asserting that I am making the choice to stretch with this internship. I am quite darn certain that it will not all feel good. (Supervision, anyone?) I know I will question myself, my abilities, and my own junk. But that is not all bad. In fact, I am pretty sure each stretch will have something to teach me. I am learning to not just trust the journey with my head, but with my heart, and to live with quickened breath and a momentary lack of clarity so I can discover what the moment might have to teach me. I am hopeful, I am scared. I am inspired, I am worried. But I will put it out there: I'm in. I'm in for stretching outside of my comfort zone.

And, as I've learned to do with stretching, I will breathe through it.

Come what may.

(And I suspect some of it ... will really be good!)