dancing around in the gray area.

 

I want to share here so badly. I have that itch for writing, the kind of writing you do in a quiet cafe on a gray afternoon with soft jazz playing while rain pours outside the window. The kind of writing that gathers you inward, wrapping you in a warm embrace and catching all your jumbled, rambly, unsure words.

Yet the words feel so jumbled and rambly and unsure that it's hard to get them out. Despite the itch.


And so I live in my gray area for a bit longer. I hold onto the jumbled words as my own, shared only to the closest of souls and the pages of my journal. I let the pieces fall around me, trusting them to be caught and held. I let it all go.

It's rather like living in limbo-land. Going about my days without a shred of an idea of how they'll end up, of where I'll be next month, of where my next thought will take me. (They're prone to running wild before I can reign them in.) And yet, despite the limbo, there's a decisiveness about the state. A conscious decision that with each step, though you're positive you're in limbo-land, you'll continue taking those steps.

And so really, it's all about trust.

Trust that this limbo isn't forever. Trust that all I must do is breathe and feel, and breathe and feel again. Trust that letting go of attachment to all these crazy expectations is totally, absolutely necessary and possible. Trust that following my intuition and listening to my body is how I'll know where the next step is. Trust that I'll take that step once it presents itself. Trust that all is unfolding.

It's a lot of trust, this limbo land. An inordinate amount of trust. Sometimes a ridiculously scary amount of trust (okay, all the time).

But choosing to be here, while visualizing being there......it's kind of a magical place.



"Wizards assume success. Master manifesters don't 'wish' or 'hope' that their magic is going to be effective. They know it will be. They rely on the science of it. They believe that on some dimension, another reality already exists and all they need to do is bring that manifestation down to Earth. Pluck."

Danielle LaPorte

being present to change.

 

I once told a very wise woman about my plans to move to Providence this fall over gluten free chocolate cookies and strawberries.

"Fall is a great time for change," she smiled.

I took a deep breath of knowing in that moment. Yes, fall. Change. Rebirth. Of course. Of course it is, the perfect time.

And so I've been readying myself. Keeping up this inner work I've been assigned. Noticing and feeling the sensations in my body with each decision, no matter how small. Continuing to journal like mad, pouring my words onto paper with heartfelt emotion. Taking it slow, adjusting and re-adjusting and re-adjusting again. Knowing that there is not One Great Step, but a series of miniscule shifts that create life-change.


The thing is, to create life-change, you have to be present to it.

Last weekend I took a trip to Squam in New Hampshire, along with Hannah and Stephanie, my online and quickly-becoming-real-life friends. I traveled first to Hannah's in Providence, then on to Steph's in Massachusetts, and then we all made the trip north for the weekend's art fair.

It was a glorious event, buzzing with so much talent and creativity and love and mesmerizing bloggers/artists that I think I was a little paralyzed. We visited all the stands, made careful purchases, declined the free beer (we're a gluten free bunch for sure), took a lot of pictures together. We left on the early side, making it back to Massachusetts by 1am, Rhode Island by 2, and I decided to stick it out and drive home, finishing the last leg by 3:30.

For a highly sensitive girl, it was a long day. And night. And even though I loved it, it took a lot out of me.

I slept late the next day and felt terrible. But it wasn't just the lack of sleep. It was the coming down from the high. The waking up in the same bed that I'm wishing so badly to get out of. The same house. The same town. Knowing I'd be going to the same job in the morning. Going from the high of Squam with these beautiful women I admire so deeply, to back "home" to my teeny space, seemingly alone. It felt final and devastating and murky and ripe with anger.

And here's the thing: I could make a choice about how to move through those low moments. Two very different choices.

I could fall into it. Get lost in it. Tumble all the way down to the depths of despair and turn back to familiar places of feeling stuck and never getting anywhere. Turn away from any progress I've made and instead grasp tightly to the old, the physical reality that so poorly demonstrates how much I've changed.

Or I could simply feel it. Acknowledge the hurt, the sadness, the pain. Honor it. Nod my head and tell it yes, yes, I know. Share it. Talk about it. And then realize, Yes. This is where the growth happens, the change. This is how movement is created, progress is made. I need to be present, right here. Still feel what comes up, but with more space. More possibility.

Being present to change. That's it. To be open, to be ready.....you must be here. You must be present. This takes an incredible amount of strength. And it is so, so difficult. But that showing up.....sometimes that's all it takes.


A few nights ago as I was falling asleep, in that in-between consciousnesses state of rest when dreams begin to form, I had a strange dream, almost more of a vision. A figure was suddenly before me, a face seemingly out of nowhere, with big eyes and a sticking-out nose and it came right up into my face and said, "Are you ready?" It caught me by surprise and I realized then that I was still awake, that this wasn't quite a dream. It was a little unnerving. But then I heard it again, "Are you ready? Ready? Ready? Ready?" Somehow, I got past the strangeness of it all and smiled. Of course. I must be ready. I must be ready to embrace the change, to make space for it, to welcome it, to open up to it, to hug it. I'm ready, I said. I'm ready.

I'm ready.

on letting go and releasing.that.tight.grip.

I tend to see things in black and white.

I can't afford it.
It's not going to happen.
I need to have this job.
I must be "me" at all times.
I need to move by this date.
I don't know what to do.

No breathing room. No space. No movement.

Just some really, really fucking tight grips.

I didn't see it for awhile. I felt like I was just being realistic -- setting goals and boundaries for myself. Only, I wasn't.

I was choking the life out of these things.

I had such a damn hard grip on the job I applied for and was excited about that suddenly, nothing else mattered. It was this, or nothing. I went from holding so tightly to the belief that I need to find a job, I need to find a job, I need to find a job to I need to get this job, I need to get this job, I need to get this job. Nothing had actually changed.

I wasn't making it very easy for these jobs to find me. I wasn't attracting them to me, I was creating the least amount of space possible for them. If I were a job, I don't think I'd want to find me either.

And that's where the tiny little shifts come in that seem so subtle, but totally change the playing field. I suddenly realized I could live in the gray area. Things wouldn't fall to shit around me, the world would continue turning. Only now, it'd be a whole lot easier to breathe. It'd feel more uncertain, yes -- but it'd be easier to exist. 

I've been practicing these small shifts and together, they're changing my reality.

From "I can't afford it" to "I really love that and know that it's worth the expense but I'm going to hold an intention to have it someday, all in good time."

From "It's not going to happen" to "Maybe now's not the right time and I just need to have a little trust that the right thing will come along when it's meant to."

From "I need to have this job" to "It'd be really nice to get this job but I'm just going to focus on how I want to feel in it and let the rest go."

From "I must be 'me' at all times" to "I love this lifelong practice of learning to come more fully into myself."

From "I need to move by this date" to "Everything is unfolding just as it should and I know that when I've done the inner work and am ready to move, I will."

From "I don't know what to do" to "I feel unsure and could really use some support around this."



Changing our inner voice -- this is where the magic happens. Knowing that you can practice unclenching your jaw over and over again every five minutes and that you can rearrange your desk just for a change of scenery even if that means it's sticking out awkwardly and all the cords are visible and you move it back after an hour. The point is that we get to write this story, basing decisions on if they feel good or not, hanging out in the gray area simply because it feels better.

Expanding horizons. Creating new space. Writing our stories.

This is where I am.

on going through, tapping into joy, and writing my own story.

 

These Joy Ups.....they're magical things. I'm not sure how they work, or what Hannah does, or how we all end up feeling so ridiculously loved and incredibly supported by the end, but.....I love them. I love them so much. They've become such an integral part of my process. It's a support that I've purchased, put in place, and done the "work" for. And I know that it will help me.

Here is the joy and support my life was missing all these years.

These past two years have been hard and trying and painful and long, but they have been the tumultuous entry to the rest of my life. To a life of beauty and love.

Like a shuttle coming back down to earth through the turbulent atmosphere, so am I going through this personal growth time of my life, expanding and reaching and feeling all the growing pains. Going through and being in the feelings instead of pushing them away and swallowing them and trying to forget them. I've been in the moment, trusting the hard ones will end and I'll come out the other side.

That's where I've been. Sitting with the thought that "wherever you go, there you are." I am what I have. I have my breath. I have my body. I have my heart. I've been in these moments so deeply, noticing tiny nuances of sensation and thought that I've never gone deep enough to notice before.....my chest, my throat, my head.....almost pulling my car over one afternoon, so overcome with simply being in my body, deep.

That is knowing. That is trust. That is be-ing. That is the very essence of what we're all doing here. For if we can rely on our bodies and breath and heart, we're never really alone.

For now, I'm just breathing through it, reminding myself that I am not missing out on anything or wasting time, because this is my life. Wherever you go, there you are. This is it. This is the work I have to do, want to do, need to do. To turn back through that tumultuous atmosphere, knowing how hard it was and how long it took.....that would be harder. My time right now is steeped so strongly in wisdom and medicine, I know I just need to be open to it. I need to be here now. I need to be open, to the joy and beauty and ease that's just beyond that cup of coffee or heart-shaped leaf or beaded bracelet.

I need to move through, slowly and joyously and with trust.



And so I am writing my own story. I'm not just reading some story someone handed to me anymore -- oh no, I am choosing what type of book I'd like to write in and what pen feels good to me and where I'd like to be sitting and how I'd like my penmanship to be.

I am choosing. I am re-creating. It is time. Gently, ease-ily, soulfully.

As my Joy sister Christina said, "I rebuilt my life the way I want it to be, for no other reason than it feels good."

Yes. Yes. A million times yes.