Does anyone else feel the VERY transitional times we're in?
Kindof like Remi and I sitting at the window here waiting for a friend to arrive. We know she's coming, sometime soon, but it takes her longer to get there than we thought. So we wait some more, then get tired of staring out the window. Mike stops by to snap a shot of our silly waiting game, and then we turn around to wait again. Eventually she drives up. The fact that we're waiting and watching for her arrival probably makes the whole thing feel like it takes so much longer than if we just went on with our life until she arrived. Then again, something about the game of watching and waiting (and getting Remi to do it with me on the same chair) cracks me up.
But waiting for transitions that I can tell are in progress in my life are a whole different matter. It's harder to stay present with those. And not to just want the uncertainty and messiness resolved. (Though it is getting much easier than it used to be.)
Earlier today I received an energy forecast I subscribe to called The Power Path and was reminded that solstice is tomorrow. And that energetically this is a time of BIG transition. Letting go of what was. Creating new beginnings. And resetting that turns things in new directions. Which feels spot on with what's going on in my life.
Since arriving at Lopez a few days ago, I'd been trying to decide whether to stay or go when Mike left earlier today? Should I enjoy the time to myself? Or pack up and head home with him? Of course, my default is to go with him. Staying here alone means I get to stare down uncertainty of what to do and expend energy being in a new place that is still very primitive. Staying here alone means everything takes effort (like finding my toothbrush every evening or filling my glass with water).
But the moment I read the forecast reminding me to honor something in my life that is ending and make some small change in honor of a new beginning, I knew exactly what I wanted to do tomorrow. I would stay at Lopez. And in the morning I'd eat waffles (which I'd already made and frozen, hooray!) with fresh strawberries from my garden to signify a new beginning: Enjoying space and time by myself in a beautiful place. At the same time, I'd gently let go of something old: The belief that I just have to do things that drain me (like sticking with someone else's schedule or rushing to get everything here all set up as quickly as Mike wants to or...). No. I've longed for space for quite some time. So, I'll honor that and practice enjoying it.
Now, it's not like Lopez is some sort of Panacea. The amount of energy it takes to get out here and do basic things like eat, go to the bathroom, get dressed, shower, decide what to do with yourself when all your routines are unavailable, etc is high. And no place is perfect. On the island, you can't really decide to eat out anytime you want because restaurants simply aren't open all the time. And island culture is its very own special thing (in the best of ways and in ways I can imagine might be difficult the more I get to know it).
But at the same time, I love this place.
I love waking up in the morning to chest high grass blowing gently in the breeze. I love the natural colors and sounds here--fields of spring green accented in swaths of deep purple and patches of white highlights. The sky, light blue, dramatic. Lines of clouds passing overhead, always changing, like frames for more blue. And beyond expanses of pasture, deep forest green. Conifers that stand tall and mighty, majestic, solid.
It's not just the colors I love, though. It's also the life all around. Cows making their way from one pasture to the next, led by some mysterious leader who decides it's time to change things up for no obvious reason. Hummingbirds that fly through the door of our barn, hovering for seconds in front of Remi and the red sleeping bag before needing a hand to help them back outside and away from the windows. Roosters that sing morning and night or whenever they feel like it. And lady bugs, with their rounded orange backs following blades of grass all the way up to the tippy top before climbing back down to choose a different grass highway to follow next. How many miles of grass do they travel up and down in a day? And how many miles of grass are there in our field if we were to walk up and down them all like lady bugs? :)
Surprisingly, I think what I love most of all is how much I love the constraints, limitations and simplicity of this place. I like that I don't have a million choices of places to eat, a million ways to spend money, an endless stream of entertainment to convince myself I should consume, tons of hikes and outdoor destinations accessible that I have to choose from, or an endless stream of people to talk to. I like the creative challenge of inventing a dinner from whatever's in my fridge, even if there's very little left, without going to the store (where the options aren't all that exciting anyhow).
Still, learning to be here and know what to do with myself isn't easy. It's a transition. And even if you love someplace or something immensely, it's still no Panacea when it comes to creating new beginnings.
But even if I don't know what's coming out the other side of this experiment with Lopez and several other things in my life, I do know that tomorrow, for solstice, I'll create a new beginning ritual with my little waffle breakfast celebration. (And maybe something else, too, we'll see.) And I'll also reflect on what I'm letting go of at this transition moment.
This is a little more active way to relate to transtion than sitting at the window hoping it will arrive. Doing this keeps me steady as I imperfectly bump along this messy road of change. It keeps me remembering what I love and am moving towards and what no longer serves so I don't just swear at the discomfort of doing something new. And it keeps me from waiting by that window with Remi in hopes that someone will magically arrive or something will magically happen that will make the transition suddenly be over. Instead, I take a tiny action, reminding myself and the universe what new beginning Lopez and my time here set in motion.
Wishing you all a lovely Solstice tomorrow! And please know I'm thinking of you. And, like so many others, I've realized this summer feels like a time to clear the decks, make space, and see what comes out the other side after playing, resting, and staying open to new possibilities. All my best & much love, Molly