One of the things I last wrote to my Beloved Persimmons, was that, basically, come hell or high water I was going to mine this pandemic for all its worth. That was innocently and with great confidence only a few weeks in. We are 10 months in, going on another year.
How did you do?
I should know better than to set myself up for determined growth. It has come careening down a steep hill, like a fast moving sled that has had its runners greased…..
whew.
About 8 months in, there was realization that I wasn’t just going to grow, but to transform. March - August were just about surviving the transitions brought on by a sorrow-filled-yet-illuminating divorce, a pandemic, liminal space of waiting and then an astounding vocational call. There was a bit of whiplash when landing better than I could have imagine. Some grief and guilt came with that. Who am I to even, then, have residual healing when what rose up was a stunning place of vocation, a home, health, proximity to Mom and family? I shushed myself a lot. Be grateful (I was) I said to myself.
September felt like the most normal month in a year. I felt like Amy. Like Amy who was settling in.
October came along and I set a retreat goal (last several years I’ve taken retreat during my birthday week) to revisit old narratives, sayings, beliefs, and see which ones are simply no longer true, or to rewrite what I’m thinking as I continue to morph my self forward. WOW, the first week, on a seemingly normal morning stroll with Alfie-the-dog, the first narrative came blazing down the snow covered hill and crashed into a tree of change: “…I’ve landed in my life.” In a flash, a moment different from the one before it, I was happy. A word that I had not claimed for a heartbreak of time. I was in a life I had not fully claimed before. A degree of the fetters of sorrow and woeful telling just evaporated.
November and December were filled with internal conversations, conversations with my spiritual director, and other partners that just kept me sledding onward. A few more tree crashes of change, back on the sled, keep going to the next one. Music came back into my life, and dancing (!) with abandon, and squats. When my body speaks, it is always interesting.
By now, I’ve learned how to dodge the trees, and just sway the sledding motion through the trees of change without needing to crash. I also am less worried when the crash is inevitable; I know how to get back on the sled and go.
Holy Cow.
And I’m not done. I’m exhausted and startled by the transformation taking place. But it is not done. The next rise, the next little hill for my swift sled reveals something I’ve not considered, or need to consider again. Some of these little hills have sent me soaring, landing with a thud. But the sled keeps going.
Why am I telling you this?
I don’t know. It is what is in me to write today. To honor. To come back to months from now. To come back to months from now and see where I was, and where I’m still heading.
I’d like to end this sledding adventure. I’d like to finally arrive at the lodge where some hot chocolate, a warm fire, a friendly smile awaits. But this trip is long. And I don’t yet know what lodge I’m headed toward.
Beloveds. Your pace through your intentions is set by you.
But if you do not set your own intentions and pace, someone else will. All around us are folks with their own agendas, looking for unintentioned folks who are sleepwalking through their lives. The sleepwalkers will wake up and wonder how they got where they are.
Don’t be a sleepwalker.
Decide if you’re a bobsledder, a nordic skier, booter, underclothed freezing traveler, snowshoer….or if you’re still in your car, running the heater, gas dangerously nearing empty.
What will it be? What will you be if you take charge of your own becoming? A becoming that was set within you before your stardust turned to human flesh? A becoming that has been waiting for you?
Transformation isn’t for everyone. But if it is for you, then let’s get going when most every cell in you is ready to go. Get out of the car and into the adventure.
Always, with you always.
Amy