Every year, for the month before Rosh Hashonah begins, it is customary to listen to the shofar blow, a spiritual version of an alarm clock, a wake-up call to take stock of what counts. This year, we received a very real and cruel wake-up call.  When my cousin passed away, long before the world could afford to lose her, it was a harsh reminder that life is fragile and how easy it is to lose focus.

I’m a very passionate person. At times, I’ve even been told I’m too passionate.

But I have so many dreams, so many hopes for the future, so many ways we can be doing better as a nation, as educators, as people.

There are so many ways I can be doing better as me.

I know that I am not the best version of myself yet. I know there is so much more digging, so much more discovery to do – but do we ever really become our best selves? Is there ever a time that we can put down our tools, put our hands up and say “done”?

This Elul, this month leading up to Rosh Hashonah, has been one filled with lots of thinking, lots of looking within and facing some hard truths.

Why have I been putting certain things off?

Why do I hold back from doing certain things?

Why do I hold back from saying things that are difficult to say?

Why do I consistently and constantly allow for the things that don’t matter to get in the way of things that really do?

One thing my cousin Hindi was really good at was honesty.

How many times will I lie to myself before I realize that we only benefit from honesty, no matter how hard it seems at the time?

As much as I love to say that I love vulnerability, and sharing my deepest thoughts, I suffer too from the normal human condition of being terrified to open the door at times.

Because when we open doors, the world is allowed to judge what is within, and allowing people to judge our most inner selves is scary stuff.

But. Honesty. Ugh, honesty.

There is this moment in time, always, right before I say something I’m scared to say. It’s this moment in my mind in which I must make a decision – silence, or share?

Every time I choose the latter it’s like an adrenaline rush, as soon as I commit to being honest, to sharing what hurts, or what may be scary to say.

And want to know the truth?

I’ve never regretted it.

That fact alone should be enough to motivate me the next time, but each time it’s a fresh new battle.

Vulnerability and honesty are not easy. But they are the only things that keep us human.

If we can’t relate to each other, if we don’t know each others weaknesses as much as we know each other’s strengths, how can we connect on the level necessary for human connection?

Sometimes my honesty and openness makes others uncomfortable, and I apologize deeply if you have ever been on the receiving end of this.

But for as long as I live, I hope to never lose the ability to be vulnerable, and I pray that this is a year that each time I choose to open up, I lose a little bit of the fear that comes with it.

For we are all only human.

Life is fragile and comes with no guarantees.

Why should we hide? Why should we fear being real, when that is what we are all craving anyway?

We live in a world of edited realities – let’s not let that determine who we are.

I’ve had so many beautiful, raw, vulnerable conversations with people since the start of this blogging-for-a-year stint, and that has taught me that when you open a door, others will walk through it.

I hope to always be able to keep this door open, and I invite you all to open your own.

I’m not promising that it won’t scare the heck out of you.

It will.

But that’s the point.

This post is a kind of a mess, and I’m not sure if it all flows, but it’s what’s on my mind today, and this is me.

Here’s to a year of truth and honesty, and being unashamedly myself.

Here is to a year of not being afraid.

Blog Post: 49/52

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Featured Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash