A Glossy Note on Presence, Initiation, and Becoming

Dear Dare Devil,

While crossing the street, one stumbled—while oncoming traffic was near—but not hurt or hit. Close enough to feel the air shift. Close enough to sharpen the senses. And yet, what rose in me was not panic, but a steady confidence in the power of presence—that rare, unmistakable steadiness that arrives when the body becomes prayer and the mind stops bargaining with fear.

The spirit said, it is part of the transition, initiation, and becoming.

Not punishment. Not an omen. Not a moment meant to make me smaller. A threshold—clean, direct, and oddly sacred.

I rose, and the green light signaled to cross unscathed.

That’s the detail I can’t ignore. The green light. The timing. The way the universe can speak through the simplest signs when you are paying attention. Not just “go,” but continue. Not just “move,” but move forward protected.

And then my soul said, You must retrieve what you need to continue the path.

Because becoming is not only about crossing—it’s also about returning, gathering, reclaiming. There are things we cannot leave behind simply because a moment startled us: our dignity, our tools, our voice, our vision. The sacred essentials. The luggage—literal or symbolic—that belongs to our next chapter. The path does not require self-abandonment as proof of courage.

This is the alchemy of presence—when a stumble becomes a signal, when fear becomes information, when the nervous system learns that fear can speak without being obeyed. And knowing there are stages to everything teaches you the deft within—that inner agility, that quiet intelligence that knows when to pause, when to rise, when to cross, when to return.

Some stages are as subtle as breath.
Some are more explicit than others.

It is important not to be a victim of platitude—those borrowed lines that sound like wisdom but often ask us to minimize what we survived. Not “everything happens for a reason” as a dismissal. Not “just stay positive” as a gag order. If anything, this moment reminded me that truth deserves more than a slogan.

So I leaned on gratitude—not the performative kind, not the polished kind, but the sacred kind. Gratitude for being blithem—for the return of lightness, for the re-entry into breath, for the body remembering joy after tension. Gratitude that doesn’t erase the edge of the experience, but honors the fact that I was kept.

And from that gratitude, I felt myself gaining the sinuousness to leap forward—a strength that isn’t stiff, a power that is supple. The kind of courage that keeps its grace. The kind of forward motion that doesn’t require permission.

Even when we disagree.
Staying steadfast and not acquiescing.

Because that, too, is initiation: refusing to trade your inner knowing for convenience. Refusing to call compliance “peace” just because it’s quieter. Refusing to shrink your truth to make someone else’s discomfort more comfortable.

So yes—one stumbled.
But one rose.
And the green light signaled.

May you recognize your thresholds.
May you retrieve what you need.
May you honor the stages.
May you refuse platitude and choose gratitude.
And may you leap forward—sinuous, steadfast, and unscathed.

With poise and presence,
Sherley Delia