"But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . ." – The Little Prince
I was hiking with a dear friend earlier in the year and talking about some of my internal struggles. This friend also happened to be a therapist, and someone much more holistic medicine and astrologically knowledgeable than I am. At one point, she ever so quickly paused but so clearly said to me “Oh, I think you’re supposed to be going through this right now. You’re in the transformation stage.”
I instantly resonated with her words, I just thought, or hoped, I was further along in the journey. To be clear, nothing externally tragic was happening to me. Just a “relationship” opening up old wounds. My discomfort was internal. Only in hindsight can I realize I was letting go of, resisting, and grieving my past self. The part of me that wasn’t serving me anymore, but had protected me for so long. A loss is a loss, even if it’s the best possible thing for you. I was in the process of exposing my wounds so they could be healed…and not just healed, but transformed.
“Love can only heal what presents itself to be healed. If our woundedness remains hidden, it cannot be healed. The best in us cannot come out unless the worst comes out as well.” -John Welwood, PhD
Now, looking back, I can see my journey with clarity, a clarity that I certainly didn’t have when I was going through it. I just trusted (most of the time…okay, some of the time) my friends words and my intuition that I was on the right path.
And that, my friends, was the North Star in my Wanderlust Phase.
As to what I am transforming into, or rather, who I am becoming, that has yet to be seen. But it’s gonna be good. As well as any evolution thereafter.
(Note: This is an edited version of my journaling. The other pages were messier and free-flowing, allowing me to move through my anger and fear. While I’m happy to share many of my thoughts, some things are personal and sacred. I also apologize for the going back and forth with tenses. This is a mix of journal entries and reflections.)
Day 1
The San Juan mountains greeted us with clouds, drizzle, and 50 degrees. A comfort. Mother Nature reflecting the emotions living inside my body. A storm of beauty, gratitude, and grief.
“I will not abandon you.” She whispered.
Day 2
The next day, I cried. Balled might be a better word. As in balled my eyes out as I stumbled down an alpine trail.
You see, I don’t just cry. I ugly cry. I could never be an actress daintily crying in a movie, even though tears come easily for me. They always manage to make crying look like such a pretty act. I cry more like the comedian impersonating the actress crying in the movie, wailing, hiccuping, and sniffling.
“I hate having such a big heart.”, I nearly texted a friend before choosing not to.
This happened several times throughout the day. Each time I thought the pain might break me. “How can my 5’4″ frame bear so much hurt? I’m going to be ripped apart.”, I thought. But after a few minutes, I’d feel the space in my chest expand, the pain would settle, and a smudge of clarity would take its place.
**********
After the evenings misadventure that included a failed attempt at backpacking (which turned out to be good luck), a cloud enshrouded us. It felt good to be consumed. The hug I had been wanting. Later it started raining. It was nice knowing that Mother Nature was crying with me. That I wasn’t alone, not with Her and Pacer by my side.
“I will not abandon you.”, we whispered together.
She reminded me not to self abandon. I keep saying this “I will not abandon you” to myself as my body tried to go numb. I so desperately want to, but I was determined to feel. To not abandon myself, my body, or my Inner Child who always felt like her emotions were too big and needed to be hidden. I had learned through my older sister’s passing that I can survive this pain, this “breaking open.”
And as the darkness enveloped, I could rest.
Day 3 (Colorado Trail)
On the 3rd day, I was mostly tearless as long as I was moving. (I had intentionally planned the day to be moving for half, then napping, journaling/writing, and reading in the second half.) Sad, but more hopeful moving through the sacred mountains. There was clarity in the remote space. Thankfully, Mother Nature decided to wait to cry until we were back at camp. There, we cried together. And that crying opened up space within me to write.
I have so many regrets, but I know I was doing the best I could with how my nervous system was reacting. I have to forgive myself. And if this leads to his healing and happiness, I can find joy in my suffering.
And then I got my perfect moment. Pacer and I were napping (well, I was resting while Pacer was on and off snoring) in the car, mostly dry inside, as the rain fell around us and pitter-pattered on the car. Pacer grabbed my hand with her paw. (I always new if I were going to get married, it would be in the San Juans. -Note: Humor coming back).
Maybe what he had given me was a gift.
I noticed that even though it was still raining, the sky wasn’t that dark.
“…nothing beautiful in the end comes without a measure of some pain, some frustration, som suffering. This the nature of things. This is how our Universe has been made up.” -Archbishop Desmond Tutu (The Book of Joy)
Day 4 (Colorado Trail)
I woke up in the middle of the night trying to get comfortable, frustrated and sad my time in the abyss was being cut short. The stars were out.
Today’s intention: find joy.
(Later) Still no sun, although I see it trying behind the clouds. A little more gratitude. Enough light and joy to feel Amanda again.
It’s funny how both grief and love can feel so all-consuming. Well, maybe love isn’t the right word. Fear-based love. I never understood the “fear God” concept in Catholic school, so its interesting to me to see I’ve still clung to the ideology in adulthood. Can I let it go for good?
Love, while everywhere, is spacious, not confining. Its Mother Nature saying to us humans “Even though you hurt me, I will still give you wildflowers, just as Father Sky presents you with the Perseids meteor shower each August.”
No tears. There hasn’t been thunder in a few days. Still clouds. Yet a clearing. No sun, but stars.
(In my isolation with Pacer, I was also blessed to meet with a friend this day, a kindred spirit. The perfect break in my retreat inside myself.)
Day 5 (Handies Peak)
Sunshine.
The first time we’ve seen it since arriving in the San Juans. A butterfly from my sister. Still clouds, but so much more sun. A friend commented on a picture of me and Pacer on Handies Peak, saying that we/I looked so happy. (Pacer is almost always happy). I reflected: I was. The type of joy that only comes from suffering. After forgiveness, with gratitude and acceptance. Unfiltered light.
While I was never in a labeled relationship, the inherent love was always there, right from the start. It just had no space to grow. Not because we didn’t hold unconditional love for each other, but because we held conditional love for ourselves.
“I will not abandon you.”, I whispered to myself.
****
The most courageous human act is to choose to love again after your heart as been broken.
To live, to truly live, is to have your heart broken. At least once, but often many times. After, it is a natural survival response to guard it. After all, it is the holiest thing we possess. But once we are aware of this mechanism, we have a choice: to put walls up around our hearts, to defend and protect, or to let our hearts be broken open and allow for even more love to be let in.
****
Final reflections:
Part of me feels like I have simply repeated another “non” relationship from several years ago. Another part of me realize that I have pulled back yet another layer and met with a deeper truth.
A few days, mostly alone in nature can help me feel, explore, and grow more than a few months’ time at home. Somehow, in the arms of Mother Earth, healing is accelerated. I feel closer to Me again. (For me, the San Juan mountains* appear to be my go-to: https://adogandhergirl.com/2019/09/10/heartache-and-healing-in-the-san-juans/) *These mountains played an important role when Pacer and I backpacked the Colorado Trail in 2015 as well.
A lot of the pain had to do with the “second arrow“, that voice that asked “why doesn’t he want me?”, that believed I wasn’t enough. Ultimately, stepping into that pain and following the thread of that false belief is what lead to my healing.
Rarely does my therapist let me go into existential crisis mode. And rightfully so- I could theorize and deflect all day.
But last session was different. She let me go there, probably realizing it was intertwined with my pain. The physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual pain, all wrapped up into one.
I gave my “fuck you” to god. “I feel so much pain, why can’t you just give me this one thing that lets me feel free?” My dance. My connection. My flight. My stride.
Of course I know God/Spirit/The Universe has given me many things, such as Pacer, a twin sister, friends and family, etc.- but any time I travel down that rabbit hole I’m led to feeling guilty for not feeling grateful enough, and that’s a whole different part of myself I need to work on. My higher self reminds me not to conflate gratitude with guilt, that I can feel many things at once: pain, anger, sadness, and gratitude.
The funny thing is that trying to stop the physical pain has led me to unraveling my emotional pain.
After running on and off in pain for years, I finally decided to call it. Annoyed because I had already worked on this and accepted I may never run fast again. But not run at all? I felt all the stages of grief, often multiple stages at once: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
I try no to let my negative voices belittle myself. “It’s just running, after all.” Truly, I (choose to) identify more as an explorer than a runner anyway. But I can’t deny that running has always been my best and favorite way to feel free, the feeling I most crave in life. Each stride, grounding and flying in a single second.
I’m not quitting. I’m just surrendering. Accepting. Realizing I can still try to heal my pain while accepting the pain my never go away. But I’m not going to force myself to run in it anymore. Which is a whole other type of healing.
When I can only access the lower, insecure self, I feel like life is a game I don’t know how to play. The rules are written in an unknown language. Maybe that’s the devil in me.
When I’m allowing my Higher Self to come through, I can see that I only have to follow Mother Earth’s guidance- surrender to the flow of life, be kind to all living beings, stand tall and true like the trees. Then there’s freedom. Maybe that’s the god in me.
The Land of In-Between
Here on Earth, we wander in the Land of In-Between. Between Mother Nature and Father Sky, soil and stars, between joy and pain. I think this is really what was meant when people first spoke of purgatory, the space between joy and pain, but Catholics made it something else. Something “bad”, that’s really not bad at all. It’s a land of growth. One where we will all surely make mistakes. Suffer. Cry new rivers. A Sacred Beauty, really. As I type those words, I can’t help but think of the passing of my older sister passing away from cancer at 36. My family was gathered around her. The experience brought us to our knees. As my teacher said, the “sacred is whatever brings you to your knees.” My sister went Somewhere Else. Her body in the ground, and her spirit, I believe, to the Heavens. Wind, the Great Connector, connecting us to all worlds, Mother Nature and Father Sky, all living being and all beings who ever lived.
On December 21st, we celebrated the first day of winter with the Winter Solstice. Unlike the Fall Equinox, where we shed our layers and leave old parts of us behind as we step into the darkness, winter is about the rebirth of the sun, or our inner light. Yes, it’s still ghastly dark for long periods each day and we often feel lost, like we’re aimlessly wandering around in a dark forest at night without a headlamp or compass, but slowly, minute by minute, the light is growing. Even before the promise of sunrise, if we can find our North Star, we have a flame to guide us.
We’ll get to the light, we always do. For now I’ll ask for patience as we accept the invitation of winter and immerse ourselves in the dark.
Did you ever wonder what would happen if we all just skipped winter? Well sure, we could all just go migrate to Florida for a few months. (The beach does sound nice right about now, doesn’t it?) Still, even Florida experiences darker days. The weather changes, as do the plants and habits of the wildlife. In Estes Park, we’re blessed to experience the full depth of winter. The harsh winds, cold nights, and bare trees. To the naked eye, not much is happening outside in the plant world. Everything looks dead. Yet healing is happening in this restful state, deep at the roots, under the soft blanket of snow provided by Mother Nature. Sadly, I actually don’t have to tell any Estes Park resident what happens when winter is skipped or only partially experienced. We’ve already seen the fires burn through. We need winter, just as spring needs winter, and all the other seasons.
Honoring and giving ourselves the space for our own Inner Winter is equally important. It includes several components, with rest, space for deep thinking and creativity more obvious pieces. In therapy, this is the time to do the underground work, the trauma work and the shadow work, when we start working at the root of deep wounds and begin the healing process. I won’t lie here either, this process can feel scary. It’s courageous work. What is important to remember is that we are never alone. Just as spring needs winter and each season needs the others, we all need each other too. Asking for help from friends, family, or a psychotherapist, is not only okay, it’s part of the healing process. Again, remember that healing deep wounds often happens slowly, much of it under the surface, wrapped under a blanket, and invisible to the naked eye.
In short, we’re shining a light to the dark corners of ourselves and our lives so they too can become part of the light. Shadow work, in short, is about acknowledging and accepting the parts of us that have been rejected or deemed unacceptable in the past. Truly, those are important parts of us. I’ll give you a few examples. I’ve met a lot of people who grew up in homes where it was not okay to express emotions. They were sent to their rooms when they were angry, or told to “stop crying” (or worse, to “toughen up”) when tears escaped their eyes. The issue is that we are all emotional beings, some of us even more tuned in to emotions than others. Often, when we are taught our emotions are not okay, we lose a part of ourselves. The only choice we have is to shut them down, go numb, or become depressed. Another common example is when I see adults who, as kids, weren’t allowed to reveal the masculine or feminine parts of themselves in order to fit societal standards. While I am thinking about the LGBTQ+ community, I’m really talking about all of us. We all have masculine and feminine parts to us, regardless of our gender identity. A few issues that I see when these parts of us are rejected include toxic masculinity and eating disorders, as well as anxiety and depression. The only way to heal is to acknowledge these shadow parts and accept them as essential to our beings.
And finally, the light. The rebirth of our own inner suns, slowly rising in us a little more each day.
What is the light? I hate to box it by defining it, but I would give it a few names: hope, love, meaning, purpose. Paradoxically, the more willingly we step into the darkness, the brighter our lights shine, even sparking the lights of others. This winter, we can utilize the light by setting an intention. What do we want to explore during winter? What changes/growth might we want to start preparing for in the spring? In less metaphorical terms, intentions are about how we want to feel and who we want to be in the world (which I would argue is already our true, authentic selves). If you get stuck there, examine your values and narrow them down to about five or so. Values are at the core of who we are as humans and help us make choices to keep us on our path. With values in our pocket, intentions as our map, and our personal North Stars to guide the way, I think we all might just be okay in whatever adventures 2022 brings. May your light, and the light of others, guide you through the dark. Know that the light is always there, even if you can’t see it at the moment.
I don’t think my twin sister Sandi would mind me saying (and would agree with) that our older sister Amanda has always been the best writer out of the three of us. For Christmas 2019, me and Sandi received Train (the band) t-shirts and wine from Save Me, San Francisco Wine Co. Following those gifts, we received the most special gift: acrostic poems by Amanda using Train songs “Drops of Jupiter” & “Hey Soul Sister”. I hope you as much strength and inspiration from the poems as we have.
Determined to be more than just survivors of life, we
Reach for a ray of sunshine in the darkness, and
Out pours strength from those here and gone who love us most.
Peace will find us in our weakest moments and help us
Sail across the sun.
Overcoming our obstacles, we reach the top of the mountain, free and
Fearless!
Journeys of 1,000 miles start with a single step forward, and we find
Unwaivering support from all that surrounds us. but we still
Pray we can live up to and fulfill all expectations.
In times of both turmoil and
Triumph, we
Explore what both amazes and humbles us, ultimately
Realizing not all who wander are lost!
Merry Christmas Ray!
All My Love,
“T”*
*Neither me or Amanda could remember how I came up with the nickname “T”, though I’ve been using it for at least 20 years.
Hope is rejoicing in times of suffering, for we know
Everything happens for a reason.
You still find yourself asking God “Why?”, but are you really ready for His answer?
Savor the unanwered prayers, for they don’t belong in our stories,
Our paths are discovered as we look to the sky for guidance.
Under the stars we can even find light in the darkness, and we remember
Life is beautiful, even when it isn’t.
Strength, our saving grace, is a state of mind,
Inspired by those who love us and those who came before us that left too soon.
Side by side, we can conquer anything,
Tomorrow is not always promised, so today we must live!
Embrace the little things that bring you joy, for someday you will
Preface: These thoughts come to me in the midst of a new, budding relationship. Yes, there is a “new Boy” who’s been nothing but kind and thoughtful. Still, it’s been a hesitation of mine from the start that he “identifies” as Catholic. I know identifies is a funny thing to say in defining someone’s religious choice, but for me he’s not the Catholic I grew up with—he’s more of the John Pavlovitz type—to the point where there are times that I want to say to him, “You’re not really Catholic then.” In my mind, to at least help me make sense of it all for now, I’ve divided it up to the Catholic Church as a business, and Catholic the religious practice. But to back track a bit, he’s seems (and has stated) that he genuinely does not care that I identify as spiritual. Which makes me question if I am hypocritical in my own spirituality that I do question the sustainability of our relationship because of our beliefs. I won’t let myself completely off the hook with that thought, as I do want to make sure that I don’t deny others of the religious and spiritual freedom that I was denied growing up. However, I do want to acknowledge the weight and heaviness of the religion classes and lectures I sat through as a kid. I thought I had processed it all before this relationship, but it seems that the Universe is offering me a new challenge. As a brief example (with the rest being in metaphor below)…I’ve felt the need to bring up things that I normally would not want to do so early in a relationship so the new Boy has a clear idea of what he is getting himself into. After much stumbling on my words, I told him I had no plans to ever get married (leaving out that if I ever change my mind, I want to get married outside the confines of four walls and by a woman). I can’t blame all of that on the Catholic Church…part of it has to do with my parents’ divorce, my young and married uncle dying before turning 30, and the narrative I created in childhood around that. But there is the religion class where we were told that the obligation in marriage was to procreate…and while I love kids I’ve never wanted them for myself (plus, Pacer is the best little girl I could ask for!). And the whole “two become one” thing always seemed skewed in the man’s favor. Finally, there’s the whole patriarchal and oppression thing that surrounds most religions…but that’s been written about more eloquently by others, so I’ll end this very long preface now.
**********************
I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe
I try to cry
But I am drowning
Cleansed, I hear them say
But from a made up sin I did not commit
My clothes are white
But then my body grows, and its back to black
I run down the street on wobbly legs
I’m screaming:
Hear me
See me
Acknowledge me
All heads turn the other way.
I am but a ghost. A Ghost?
No, for I am a woman.
I trip and fall.
I am but a ghost with bloody knees
Is this my cross to bear?
I choose to wear only bones
To be more like a Man or further hidden,
I no longer know.
Still, without this chest
Without my life-giving blood flow
There’s less force to do the things that I am told
Like my body is only for him
And the children to come after
For that is what is required for me to become seen
If I am good
Am I good?
It is only years later that I inhabit my body again
That I realize it wants to sing, to dance
To come forth as only the feminine spirit can
So I choose to run
And run
And run
Miles, valley, rivers, and mountains later
I break free of the chains, my cross
Finally, I have found my Heaven within.
********************
The evening after writing this, I cam across this amazing video: Be a Lady They Said
When I worked at an addiction treatment center next to the forest, our spiritual advisor would take the clients to an Aspen grove next to the center. When the spiritual advisor left, I followed in his footsteps. We told the clients that the Aspen grove, the hundreds of trees in front of us, were one organism. Underground, they were connected, firmly rooted because of how they intertwined with one another. That way, when 2013 flood swept past, or when harsh mountain wind blew through, the trees remained upright.
I told them this with fervor, as I knew that at the heart of addiction was disconnection. Many of the clients had already begun to learn this, as in group they let their guards down, shared their stories, and made deep friendships. Within days, I could often see a shift in the clients, a glow, like those of Aspens in the fall.
I told this story again to my mother, just a few weeks ago, at her first chemo appointment.
Just the week before, she called me on a Wednesday evening to give me the news “I have cancer.”
She told me not to worry. That she was tough and going to be fine. She had the same doctors as my older sister (still going through her own cancer treatment), and they were going to take an even more aggressive route. She told me not to come home, to continue my work in Colorado.
Two days later I learned from my older sister that my mom was in surgery to have her port put in, a small device put under the skin to make to make blood draws and infusions easier during chemo. My older sister and my step dad went to her first chemo treatment, which my mom was upset about. She wanted to go alone. Not to be an inconvenience to others and their “busy” schedules. It wasn’t until almost a month later that I found out it was stage 3.
But when your family, both in blood and deep friendship, schedules and to-do list don’t matter.
My mom’s stoicism didn’t stop my from collapsing to the floor in pain and tears minutes after we hung up, with my dog rushing over to me to lick the salt off my cheeks.
It didn’t stop me from feeling anger, sadness, and confusion.
As I gave myself the space to feel all of my emotions, I came to a few realizations.
The first being that this storyline, the storyline of “I have this problem, but it’s not for you to worry about” has shaped my own beliefs growing up. When I felt sad, so sad that I wanted to claw my way out of my body and escape to somewhere, anywhere else, that I wasn’t enough to share how I felt. It was my burden to bear. Alone. Even after the depression passed, a fierce independence took over. It’s taken me years to learn to lean on others, like a fallen tree resting on its neighbors. Still, I have to fight the urge to just collapse.
Second, I remembered the message of the trees.
Even more amazing than hundred plus trees in one Aspen grove being one organism, they are connected even more intimately through a fungal network. This network not only allows the trees to send vital nutrients to each other, but also communicate. If there is concern about disease or insect infestations spreading, the trees will send out distress signals to each other, allowing the others to alter their behavior. And if a mother tree is felled, the surrounding trees may continue to send her nutrients, keeping her roots alive.
Humans have created this world wide web in our own way through technology. But I suspect there is a deeper form of connection between loved ones, one that may not be visible to the untrained eye (trees also send out chemical, hormonal, and electrical signals).
I can’t say with certainty that without my phone I could have picked up on the distress of my family hundreds of miles away from me. What I do know is that I feel better when I am in the loop, and even better when I can offer some form of help, be it a card or flying back to Ohio to provide company.
When I told my mom about the trees, I went on to say that because all the trees are connected, one’s challenge is not just theirs alone, but shared among the group. My analogy, trying to tell my mom that we were all in this together. She wasn’t a burden but an opportunity for our family and friends to come together and find strength.
She said she understood, but I’m not sure she felt my words. Maybe I said too much. I don’t know.
When I got the original call from my mom telling me she had cancer, I texted my sisters (after I picked myself up off the floor). I told them that I never wanted us to keep things from each other, good or bad, that we never had to “go at it alone.” When they both texted back “agreed”, I felt we solidified a pact. We were in this life together, for reasons both known and unbeknownst to us, tied together by cell phone signals and invisible visceral strings of love. My heart felt a bit lighter, like an Aspen leaf held up by the wind.
This is another throw-back post from my old blog, several years old. While my writing has changed (and hopefully gotten a bit better), the message is still powerful and I’m amazed at the wisdom I had in my early 20s. Looking back at this now, one of the great part is that I have had the chance to study what I call “the wander years”. Common terminology calls this the liminal phase, or the phase between who a person once was and who they are becoming. In case you want more, I did add my academic response to a discussion forum on this topic below.
The Wander Years
I am in the middle of a forest. The trees are thick with a vibrant shade of green, but peaks of sunshine still manage to seep through. Purple, pink, and orange flowers line the either side of the trail. To the east I can hear the gentle babble of the sparkling blue river I just crossed. To the west, large purple mountains clash with the clouds, dotting an azure sky. When people talk about things being beautiful, a day being perfect, this is surely what they mean.
Unfortunately, I have not been able to fully appreciate all the natural wonders around me. I’ve gone mile without picking my head up.The constant chatter in my head blocks out the chirping birds, the light wind brushing the leaves, and even the crunch of my footsteps on the soft dirt trail scattered with twigs. My vision is skewed, not because of a lost contact, but because I am too busy searching for another trail.
I passed another trail a few miles back heading towards the south, and another a few miles before that heading toward the east. Neither felt quite right, so I kept going. Now I am second guessing that decision. I know there are a few more side trails coming up ahead, but will they lead me in the right direction? Where am I going anyway? I think I am…
Lost.
Well, maybe no quite lost.
I am….Wandering.
The term “wander” probably best explains the past 2 years of my life. According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, it means to:
1a : to move about without a fixed course, aim, or goal
b : to go idly about
2: to follow a winding course
3a : to go astray (as from a course) : stray <wandered away from the group>
b : to go astray morally : err
c : to lose normal mental contact : stray in thought <his mind wandered>
Aside from 3b, I’d say, yes, that is about right.
After college, I thought I had a clear vision of what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. How quickly that all became blurry. For starters, things happened that I couldn’t have predicted. Then I began to learn more, read more, and do different things. My thinking began to change. This took effect on the ideas I had for myself and my future.
Many times, I became frustrated. I knew I was on this Earth for a purpose, but what the heck was it!? Too many times, I let my frustration turn into disappointment, bringing me to tears. Running was not the answer, nor were the two jobs I tried out. Life satisfaction was a far off concept for me.
So, I wandered. And I’m still wandering. But I think I’m getting closer to that one path, that one trail that was meant for me and me alone.
Funny thing is, I’m getting there because of all the things I’ve learned along the way in these past two years. I’ve learned I hate driving an hour to work, in a busy and crowded city. I also hate dressing up and wearing heals. On the other hand, working with kids in an unstructured environment isn’t for me either.
I’ve learned people can’t read my mind. Sometimes, I just need to say how I feel, even if that’s not that natural thing for me to do. Communication is key.
I’ve learned to be me, and I’ve learned what I value. I like to be warm, happy, and well fed…but I don’t need a whole lot. I don’t really like BIG things, just small, simple things…and things that are as eco-friendly as possible.
I’ve learned I love running…but not when it becomes my forefront. Then it becomes work, and with that comes unnecessary pressure. I like running for its serenity, and how it enhances who I am.
I’ve re-learned what my values and my morals are.
The list goes on and on.
All these things have helped shape who I am, and expanded my horizons.
If only I would have slowed down, picked my head up, and enjoyed the views along the way…
Yes, I was wandering. But, as it turns out, wandering is what I needed to do. I may have gotten a few bumps and bruises along the way, but my wandering wasn’t really such a bad thing after all.
I haven’t done too much research on the subject, but I don’t think I’m alone in my experience of these “wander years”. Actually, I think the majority of the population goes through the same thing. Usually though, it’s given a negative connotation.
For adults, it’s most often known as a mid-life crisis. For teens and young adults, they’re either lazy or “dreamers” who need to come back to “real world”.
There are the exceptions of course…
There are the child prodigies and young entrepreneurs, some millionaires before they reach adulthood, who know exactly what they are born to do. Then there are those who have a calling so strong that they know, even when still playing in a sandbox, that they were meant to lead, preach, or heal.
It’s hard not to be jealous.
But truth be told, we are all meant to be on this earth for some reason, and most of us have to do quite a bit of digging to get there. And that’s okay! Because it is when we wander that we make mistakes, fall, and learn. It’s a time of exploration, self-discovery, and beauty…if only we take the time to pick our heads up and enjoy it.
[Again, it’s unfortunate that our society looks down on wanderers, instead forcing many people to take on jobs that they really don’t enjoy (yes, you can find meaning in those jobs too, you can find mean in your life in anything you do, but that’s another blog!). Recently, I listened to an audio CD, “Thrive” that listed Copenhagen, Germany as one of the world’s happiest places. A huge reason for this is because people have the freedom to try different job without fear of debt or others opinions – the sacrifice is that the majority of a person’s income goes to taxes, but hey, who cares if your happy!]
My hope in writing this blog is to encourage others to embrace their “wander years” because they are important parts of our lives. It takes a lot of trust in oneself, and maybe a Higher Calling, but there is no point in worrying or getting down on yourself in these years. Our wander years having meaning and purpose, whether they are spent exploring the mountains or working at a restaurant just to get by. As long as we don’t give up and believe in ourselves, we will all find the direction we are supposed to be traveling in and reach our destinations…or destinies.
So wander on my friends, and enjoy the adventure.
We wandered A LOT during our 2017 trip to Montana.
From February 2018:
Not All Who Wander Are Lost
“Not all who wander are lost” is a line from one of my favorite poems by J.R.R. Tolkien* from his Lord of the Rings Trilogy. It’s become a common bumper sticker (or in my case, a car air freshener that lost its smell long, long ago), but it has always held great meaning for me. I was able to put words to that meaning as I read the assigned readings for the week. Bridges (2004) calls the gap between one life phase and the next the neutral zone, while Stein (1987) describes the phase of a person’s internal structures from a former identity being dissolved and new structures constellated as the liminal phase. Personally, I can going to call this “the wandering phase”, a phase that seems aimless at first, as if one is lost in the woods at night, grasping for direction by the light of the moon, and finally begins to find purpose at the approach of sunrise.
Further building upon the work of Bridges (2004) when he describes surrender as a time when “one must give into the emptiness and stop struggling to escape it” (p.140), I liken it to the hiker who must give into the darkness, make camp, and wait until morning to find help, also acknowledging that help may come in many different ways. Four pages later, Bridges speaks of the “wilderness”, which he reveals in Hebrew also means “sanctuary”. To extend this analogy (or truth?) one more step and call upon the work of Brene Brown when she says “there are times when standing alone feels too hard, too scary, and we’ll doubt our ability to make our way through the uncertainty…this is when you reach deep into your wild heart and remind yourself “I am the wilderness””. In that sense, we are both our own wilderness and our own sanctuary. The gap between phase of one’s life is not an abstract place, but a place when one needs to go inside oneself and seek one’s own truth.
The Hine (1987) reading reminded me of my own ceremony during a transitional phase in my life a year ago, though at the time I did not call it such. It was just something that I felt called to do, which, when reading, alleviated my anxiety in being creative enough to create a ritual. During this time, I was doing my best to surrender my identity as an competitive athlete. In the year and a half previous to my ceremony, lots of tears, frustration, and anger ensued. Finally, after a lot of praying, journalist, and soul searching, I was able to begin to let go. I wrote a letter to my “old legs” and then, on Christmas Eve at dusk, I buried the letter into one of my favorite trees in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. This ceremony, like the ones described by Hines (1987) helped me to begin to find gratitude for my past self and embrace who I was, and still am, becoming.
References
Bridges, W. (2004). Transitions: Making Sense of Life’s Changes. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press.
Hine, V. (1987). Self-created ceremonies of passage. In Mahdi, L. M., Foster, S., & Little, M., Betwixt & Between: Patterns of masculine and feminine initiation (pp. 304-326). La Salle, IL: Open Court Publishing Company.
Stein, J. O., & Stein, M. (1987). Psychotherapy, initiation and the midlife transition. In Mahdi, L. M., Foster, S., & Little, M., Betwixt & Between: Patterns of masculine and feminine initiation (pp. 287-301). La Salle, IL: Open Court Publishing Company.
A Dog and Her Girl 