I had a very lengthy, rather weighty post typed up for this month, but after careful consideration, I decided not to publish it. I want to, of course. There are many hours behind it, as well as a not-insignificant chunk of my life experience. But I digress. We will do this instead.
May, for me, used to mean just one thing: dance recital season. I loved everything about it—the costumes, the photos, the rehearsals and performances. I liked dress rehearsals best. My mom used to sit in the back of the auditorium and watch them so she wouldn’t be surprised by anything on the day of the show. That’s a feeling that simply cannot be put into words.
I think about the Ghost of May Past frequently now. Sometimes, she seems easier to bear than the changes I’m facing. If you had told my 17-year-old self that I would be considering another cross-country move—of my own volition—I would have laughed and touched up my lipstick. The greatest stressor in my life was whether or not I’d make it to my performances on time. I can still feel my heart stopping in the brief window between the beginning of a song and my entrance onstage.
Time is such a strange thing.
Is This Forever
For years now, I’ve been focused on my ability to trust. This is not new information. It began as an invitation to trust Life and, over time, morphed into a tenuous connection with myself. For so long, I was led to believe that the guidance I sought was outside of me, but in divine timing, I found that everything I need is within.
This always makes me think of Luke Skywalker in The Empire Strikes Back. He has ample proof that the Force exists, but he can’t make it work for him consistently. What is with that?! Magic exists before your very eyes, and you don’t know how to control it? Catch me failing to recognize my own power! No way, no how.
Ah. To be seven again.
The reality is that—even having seen what I’m capable of when I’m in alignment with my soul—I still have to work to trust myself. Even having seen the healing prowess of my body, I still have to remind myself that I’m strong. I am strong enough to withstand a new beginning. I can continue to thrive—even in a new environment.
That is a level of trust I did not know existed until now.
This Is For You
Three months ago, in my last Where I Am post, I wrote this:
… there are other new things on the horizon—I can feel them. The impression of them, the space I’m holding for them. Isn’t it lovely? When you create your own reality, you can rest in the knowledge that life is happening for you, not to you.
These “new things” have included career opportunities, friendships, travel, and conquered fears, among many others. And even though it hasn’t all been sunshine and rainbows, I’m proud of myself for holding that space. I feel at peace for the first time in weeks, and I can finally see a few puzzle pieces joining together. There is a strong pull onward. Not a moment too soon.
I have a pattern of texting a friend of mine when everything feels like it’s going to hell. That’s when I know I’ve given up the struggle. Inevitably, a few hours later, I get answers that only my soul can give. It’s a little funny—and hopefully something I’m outgrowing.
Could People Be Home
Last week, I made a trip down to Austin, TX, with my brother. I thought I might want to live there, despite knowing exactly how I feel about big city life (hint: not great). But the trip itself was revitalizing and lovely. I got to catch up with a dear friend and make a new one. The four of us (my brother, our friends, and myself) were up until all hours of the night discussing everything from philosophy, to psychology, to economics. It was perfect, and it got me thinking…
What if “home” is simply being with the people we love? Think of how many homes we could have, how many opportunities to feel safe in the world. There is that voice again—the one that whispers, I am strong.
I will leave you with that. And if you do consider your people to be home, I hope you count yourself. xx
Photo by Ray Hennessy on Unsplash
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