The Line That Wasn't a Chasm

On perception, integration, and trusting the ground beneath our feet.

There was never a gap. It was only change in texture.

For the past several years, I’ve been in quiet resistance to blending my transformational coaching and corporate job/consulting worlds.

I’ve spent years curating a persona for each and couldn’t see how they could merge without losing credibility in either realm.

Sometimes the mind sees a change in the surface you’ve been walking and translates it into danger—imagining a cliff where there’s only a shift in color or texture.

The body hesitates, gathering itself for flight or a leap, when all that’s needed is a single step forward.

My dear little Momo (may he rest in peace) was a fairly fearless dog.
But when running through the house, he’d leap over the seam between the kitchen and dining room floors. The color shifted from tile to wood—no ridge, no step, perfectly level—and yet he’d always take a running jump, never realizing he could simply walk across like everywhere else.

I’ve stood at that same threshold often—looking between what’s familiar and what’s next, convincing myself I’m standing at the edge of something perilous.
That somehow there’s a huge leap of faith that must be taken.

And yet, nearly every time I put one foot in front of the other, the ground has been solid beneath me.

The shift wasn’t in the surface. It was in my perception.

It’s funny how we can guide others across their own thresholds so easily, standing outside the situation and seeing clearly that no chasm awaits them—and yet forget that wisdom for ourselves.

Today I realized I’ve been doing exactly that: offering others the insight to trust what’s underfoot, while staring at my own line and mistaking it for an abyss.

Then I remembered Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

Near the end, Indy faces the final test before reaching the Holy Grail: a canyon too wide to jump, the inscription in his father’s journal reading, “Only in a leap from the lion’s head shall he prove his worth.”

He looks across the void, exhales, and steps forward.

His foot lands on stone.

The bridge, carved to blend perfectly with the canyon walls, had been there all along.

The test wasn’t about distance—it was about faith. It was about trusting in what couldn’t be seen until movement began.

That’s the real test of every threshold: Not whether we’re brave enough to leap, but whether we can remember the foundation has always been there.

Knowing it has been built from everything we’ve lived, learned, and survived.

For me, that realization changes everything.

Whether I’m consulting in corporate, facilitating breathwork and sound meditations, or coaching individuals, I am still me. Regardless of which realm I’m in, my ethos and my values remain the same.

I don’t have to split myself in two.

There is no bridge, no chasm, no leap between these worlds—only the awareness that they were never separate to begin with.

We’re all walking the same human path, and the lessons we gather in one realm are the very ones that help us cross into the next.

Reflection

When you stop waiting for certainty, you realize the line you feared to cross
was never a canyon to leap, but a threshold to step.

The ground doesn’t vanish beneath you.
It simply changes form, inviting trust where there was once hesitation.

Ask yourself:
Where have I mistaken the unknown for danger, when it was only the beginning of the next true chapter of my becoming?

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Benediction

May your next step be steady;
Not because you know the path, but because you trust your feet.

May the threshold rise to meet your courage.
And may you remember that every transformation begins as a simple step disguised as a leap.