Vulnerability – the driving force of connection

Vulnerability — a word, a feeling, a concept. It’s one that I’ve spent some time exploring — both the idea of it and its relentless seduction. I’m not sure about anyone else but I crave vulnerability. I yearn for its ability to create authentic connections but I find it also scares me to my core.

This fear is one that I know all too well — it’s what I blame for my missed opportunities, and my lost moments. I’m learning, though, that all it takes is a moment. One moment, one conversation, one connection, to finally convince you that it’s worth it. That giving in to vulnerability, is worth the dread that creeps in, and worth that all too familiar sensation of fear coursing through your veins.

If I’m being honest though, I’m incredibly stubborn and it took far too many moments and far too many conversations to get me to this point. But for those moments I am incredibly grateful, because without them I wouldn’t be sitting in the back of a lululemon, typing away on my laptop, diving headfirst into an incredible goal of mine. Writing this piece, any piece really, has been a goal that has eaten away at me all of 2019 and as it manifests, I’m finding it looks a lot like me hiding in my sweater, surrounded by individuals so incredibly oblivious to the utter sense of nerves settling ever so snuggly in the pit of my stomach.

So, vulnerability. There’s that word again. Such a visceral feeling and an almost immediate reaction. She shows herself through the quickening of my chest and the tightening of my throat. I hear her in the thrumming of my heartbeat; almost as if someone’s turned the volume up one notch too many. Honestly, I can’t help but run when I hear her. Yet, even so, I find myself addicted to her high.

Bear with me, my thoughts are all over the place and I’m experiencing such a cascade of emotions — so maybe I’ll start at the seed that was planted for this beautiful flower of a goal of mine to bloom.

It’s quite simple really — Instagram unearthed the “close friends” feature. That’s it. That was the simple seed that was planted and with it unearthed both a sense of freedom and a sense of mayhem for me — if you’ve used the feature, you have an idea of what I mean. At my fingertips, was the ability to create a list of my closest friends, by Instagram’s standards anyways, and unleash utter authenticity.

So, I composed my list of friends. It ranged from those that I talk to on a weekly basis, to friends from oh so many years ago. You know the friends. The ones that you’ve lost touch with, but still remember. They aren’t often thought about, but when they are they bring about a stinging sense of nostalgia accompanied by, that often, melancholy pang that settles in with age — reminding us all that we aren’t quite as young and carefree as we used to be.

That little green ring gave me power and strength but more than that — it gave me freedom. The freedom to explore my most authentic self and to let my vulnerability run rampant through that carefully curated list. So that’s exactly what I did. Who would have guessed that authenticity, for me, meant posting on Instagram about a topic quite as taboo, as love? Well, apparently, it does and again that’s what I did. I posted my picture, I shared some deep thoughts and subsequently threw my phone halfway across the room — as if the distance between my phone and I could quell the fear that came about almost instantaneously.

Then something magical happened. My beauty of a friend Sara, slid into my DM’s singing songs of relativity and comfort and praises — unknowingly watering the seed that the green ring had planted. She’s the type of friend that brought about that pang of nostalgia, so that message just hit a little different. I spent the next few weeks chasing that message, or ones like it, chasing that feeling. I wrote and I posted — the thrumming of my heart a familiar companion at this point and I watched as the magic green ring shone brightly at the top of my screen. Waiting and watching for that notification on the top right-hand corner to give me a sign. Weeks later, still nothing.

In time, I found my words were becoming less authentic, they started to feel almost desperate. I mentioned the mayhem that the green ring unearthed, right? Well, it wasn’t pretty. I went from writing my inner most musings, to posting any and everything for that little red number one sign at the top right.

At this point, I was under the impression that my vulnerability had packed its bags and was headed for the hills. She had shown her colours and had been snubbed, so I gave up. There I was with a bruised ego to ice, hurt feelings to soothe and so the green ring of bandits had been disbanded. But apparently, my quest for vulnerability went on.

The truth is, I had experienced euphoria within the walls of the little green ring. I had helped someone. Someone, somewhere, read the words that I wrote and found comfort; I can’t begin to explain to you how that made me feel. As it turns out, lady vulnerability wasn’t quite ready to let that go and neither was I. I posted a picture short after, because thoughts of self-worth were on my mind and I wanted to share them — not for the green ring and not for any other reason than to have it there in case anyone needed to hear it. This time I didn’t throw my phone, and I didn’t check it either — that’s not to say that lady vulnerability wasn’t there. She was. Only this time I had no expectations.

And then it happened, the top right corner of the home screen on my Instagram lit up. An old acquaintance that I hadn’t spoken to in years, reached out to me. All they said was, “thank you for that. I needed to hear it,” and that was the moment I knew I didn’t want to stop. In that moment, I found the fear of vulnerability addicting and undeniably rewarding. Ever since, she’s been in everything I do. She’s in the places I go, and the conversations I have.

In fact, she’s here right now. I’m typing these words with the sole intention of sharing them and it scares me. My heart’s beating a little faster, and it’s sounding a little louder. It’s just, now I’m not running. Now I’m trying to welcome her with a warm embrace because with her, I found my voice. That’s not to say that all those awful questions that come with her don’t exist, because they still do. I still question if I’m good enough, and if I’ll be accepted. Will people look at me the same, will they judge me?

The truth is, I don’t know. I can honestly say that I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, but here I am anyways. Leaning just a little further into my vulnerability. Exploring her depths and accepting that she knows no bounds. I’m opening the little green ring up to anyone that wants to listen. I’m done trying to hide from her, I’m done running. Now I let her approach me, ever cautious, ever hesitant, ever curious.

I’m thankful for this new step towards vulnerability. In my post about love, I said that “love is the ability to unpack harsh truths, with a safety net of understanding and acceptance.” Through this process, I’ve uncovered that what I crave is connection in an effort to dive a little deeper. Deeper connections, deeper moments, deeper truths.