After the Pause

What Did the Parachute Actually Change?

Probably not the Rock.

Probably not the other Traveler.

Probably not every thought spinning through your head.

Which can make the whole thing seem a little suspicious.

You pulled the cord.

You paused.

You took the walk, stopped talking, slept on it, went somewhere else, or did whatever helped slow your particular fall.

And then you looked around and thought:

Wait. The problem is still here.

Yep.

The Parachute never promised to remove it.

Jenny used to think the useful part would be the answer

If Jenny was upset, confused, hurt, angry, afraid, or stuck in a difficult conversation, the obvious goal seemed to be figuring it out.

What happened?

What did it mean?

What should she say?

What should happen next?

An answer felt like progress.

So when she did not have one, stopping could feel almost backwards.

But over time, Jenny started noticing something strange.

Sometimes nothing outside her had changed after a pause.

Dan had not transformed into a different person.

The disagreement had not evaporated.

The difficult information was still difficult.

The Rock was still sitting exactly where she left it.

And yet Jenny was not always standing in exactly the same place.

Sometimes what returned was choice

Maybe her words came back.

Maybe she could hear what Dan was saying without simultaneously preparing the next five things she needed to say.

Maybe she realized she needed more information.

Maybe she discovered she was still not ready.

Maybe the thing she had been absolutely certain she needed to do no longer felt like the only possible next move.

None of those things solved the Rock.

But they changed what Jenny could do beside it.

The Parachute changed the amount of room between what happened and what Jenny chose next.

Sometimes that room was enormous.

Sometimes it was barely a crack.

But a crack can be enough for another possibility to get in.

The pause can reveal another ingredient

One of the surprising things Jenny discovered was that the Parachute did not always tell her what to do.

Sometimes it only helped her notice what she needed next.

A Sunny Spot.

A Fence.

A Gate that leaves open the possibility of reconnecting with the conversation later.

Sleep.

Movement.

More information.

Different words.

Another person.

More time.

Or occasionally:

Nope. Still falling.

That was information too.

That last answer is allowed.

We're experimenting, remember?

If the pause gave you nothing useful, you learned that too.

And sometimes the WHOOSH gets smaller

As Jenny learned more about her own footing, something else became possible.

Sometimes she noticed the fall earlier.

She might recognize the story beginning.

Notice the urgency.

Catch herself leaving her own Mirror.

Find a few words for a pause before she needed the full dramatic deployment.

Wonderful.

This is where it would be tempting to announce that Jenny had mastered the Parachute and would henceforth glide serenely through all difficult human experiences.

Unfortunately:

I KNOW ABOUT PARACHUTES. WHY AM I CURRENTLY FALLING?!

Also Jenny. 😂

Knowing a tool exists does not mean you will always notice the exact moment you need it.

Practicing a process does not mean you graduate from being human.

And Becoming does not mean your process stops changing.

Maybe that is what changed

The Parachute did not make Jenny a person who never fell.

It gave her another possibility when she did.

And every time she experimented with it, she learned a little more:

This helps me.

This does not.

I need longer.

I need words.

I need space.

I can come back now.

Nope. Not yet.

That collection of discoveries became more useful than one perfect answer.

The goal is not to graduate from needing tools. The goal is to keep learning what helps you remain able to choose.

And if you pulled the cord and you are still spinning?

Good news.

There is a room for that too. 😂