A chapter is about to end.
It is our last full day on this beautiful farm. We have lots to do. Packing and cleaning. We hear a hurricane is coming, though I haven’t even taken the time to read the news about it. We’re trying to get out before it comes. Tomorrow we head to the city.
The normal me is the planner, the worrier, always looking ahead. It’s like I have binoculars permanently strapped to my face. Or a crystal ball slowly dangling back and forth inches from my nose. It makes for a lot of collisions. Mostly between me and my interstellar expectations. But if I’m farsighted with the present and future, then I’m incredibly nearsighted when it comes to my past.
So let’s practice. Rewind. About 13 months.
The 17th of July. We were pumped, and packed tight, in an old car carrying our lives. It’s hard to express the excitement. It was our way of going big. Big as a budding romantic unit, but also as individuals. I suppose there was a vague sense of where we were going, and what might be waiting for us. Generally west’ish for a farmsitting gig we knew to be filled with bleats and beauty. A good start. But beyond that, everything was so wide open.
We have a tendency to dream aloud when it’s just the two of us. There was a lot of that during our roadtrip. We ran with it. Shutting off the music and turning up the make believe. We dreamt of where we might be a year from the farm. Which just happens to be our 2 year anniversary. And next week!
Where in the world would we find ourselves?
We almost made a bet. We planned to. Whoever’s closer would get some elaborate feast.
But the bet never happened. A month disappeared before our eyes.
To be honest, so did a lot of our dreams.
Oh reality… sometimes you’re so blunt.
At that point, I realized how important it is to see. While the long view captivates me, I also need to be able to see and take the steps in front of me. In all their wonderful and abundant variety.
Sticky ones, crowded ones, some cool underfoot. Others can be slippery, and some start to crumble right under your toes. On some steps you’ll have company, on others who knows. You may find yourself totally alone. Some are fun, awesome even. Others simply suck. They can hurt, leaving scars on our skin and on our hearts.
But the best ones, the ones that are just right for you, you won’t find on any map. And it’s impossible to know where they might lead.
That can be terrifying.
Also liberating.
But let’s be real. For a shy and calculated occasional control freak like myself, it was mostly terrifying.
At some point, after enough steps I suppose, I realized things would be alright.
And if they aren’t. If we find ourselves in a pickle. Approach it just as you would any other. With clear eyes and hunger.
A hunger to live well. To feel emotions as if they are a spectrum of color. To love.
In that, I begin to find my rhythm. Each awkward and stuttered step, gradually smoother. On beat. In sync. I suppose that would make this a dance. And dancing alone is dandy but it’s better with company.
To share those steps.
All those steps make me sleepy.
The past couple months have been some of my best. In terms of work I’ll continue to be critical, but in terms of life, growth, learning to be happy, I’ve come a long way.
To look back and see where all those steps have led us.
It’s certainly a weird place.
But I like it.
And with this I celebrate.
To that incredibly bizarre and wonderful year, and to the one ahead.