Week Four. June 24-30.
From where I sit in this little pink chair of mine, I can see the leaves silhouetted against the window, each piece carved out of the dark sky. Beyond it the branches sway and creak in the wind. Beyond there is just a touch of light in the sky, holding on to this summers night, never ready to let go.
It’s been a few days since arriving home from a trip to California with a handful of my dearest friends.
It was a “lush” week. A week I had dreamed of before, desert dirt being kicked up by enthusiastic steps.
Sun beating down on our backs as we wind our way through valley’s of giant boulders, purple, green, and brown cacti, remnants of flowers drying up on their thorny exterior. It takes time and practice and patience and forgiveness to learn how to be comfortable with the comfortable. We talk a lot about how important it is to be ok with being uncomfortable, but what about when you encounter the feeling of complete joy or awe? What then? We’ve are so practiced as adjusting ourselves for the painful and broken moments, that when anything else enters the scene, we can find ourselves shrinking up against its shiny presence.
And then, of course, there’s the moment when we know we’re suppose to be happy, but we find ourselves riddled with anxiety. “Why can’t I just enjoy this?!” We think, as our vision narrows and mind wraps itself inside itself. We can tell ourselves that we’re deserving of it. That we have worked hard for it. That taking breaks is ok. That resting is ok. That it’s ok to not be ok, but sometimes, not even the wisest of mantras or sayings can keep us from an unexplainable and entirely frustrating of feeling one way when you had told yourself over and over that you should feel another.
Well, sometimes the only solution is to let go. Maybe, just maybe, this feeling is here for a reason and fighting it off is only going to cause more angst. Maybe, this feeling is just a detour into another one—a route you never would have thought of but ends up bringing you the most grand and wild adventure.
“This was everything,” is something I find myself saying quite a lot.
Because no matter how small, in that moment it was. Even if it was hard. Even if it was unbelievably painful, it was everything, and that everything brought me to this place.
And everywhere in-between. And this isn’t to say that you need to “make of the most of” or always “find the silver lining,” not at all! In fact, I say patoo-ey with it all. I say make your own rules.
Decide for yourself what this is going to mean to you.
Before heading back home from the land of the relentless sun and star-filled nights, I made a little solo detour to a place on the coast (the home my grandparents build—the place my mom and her brother grew up) that brings every emotion surging back as if a lifetime had happened yesterday.
The roads, with their dips and pot holes, birds swooping right in front of you, diving back out the other side and down into valley below the ridge; it very much feels like I’m driving on the tippy top of it, the whole world below me as I make my way to a structure that I am certain is the foundation of my entire being. A structure that was built with hands that helped to raise me.
I home that reminds me of the unfolding of a million moments.
Heartaches (and breaks).
Housing every single one without needing them to explain or give reason for who and what they are and how long they decide to stay.
Sending you all so much love this week (and every week for that matter),