I used to think I had to be ready.
Fully resourced.
Fully clear.
Fully confident.
Now I know:
I almost never am.
I’m often willing.
Willing to take the step.
Willing to let go.
Willing to show up without the outcome.
It doesn’t mean I feel strong.
Or certain.
Or fearless.
It means I know what’s required,
and I’m willing to go anyway.
Even if my breath is shallow.
Even if my thoughts still loop.
Even if I’m not sure how I’ll be received.
Willing isn’t perfect.
It’s not loud.
It’s not convincing.
Willing is the quiet yes
that moves before certainty shows up.
It’s the signal I follow
when the story in my head hasn’t caught up
to the clarity in my gut.
I’m not ready.
I’m willing.
That’s enough for this move.
That’s enough for this moment.
The rest will come.
Or it won’t.
I’ll still be here.