OK — nearly . . . what? Six weeks since the last post? It seems both longer and shorter than that, and much has transpired.
Current Location: Still at the Little Cabin in the Big Woods south of Port Townsend.
Apparently, the Pacific NW is not finished with us yet.
I just did a really sweet Open Circle in Blaine, WA last weekend, and it looks like we might schedule another for that area before we leave the NW.
About a week after my last post, the Colorado wildfires broke out — since it was likely that we’d be camping/trekking our way across the country, we chose to stay put through July, rather than wander into a heat wave and smoke zone.
Then, our hosts here inquired whether we’d like to stay long term (they enjoy having us here, and we enjoy them, too), so we pointed our minds toward at least the end of July or mid-August. Our sense now is that we will be here a couple more months at least (Sept/Oct) — we’re moving to a short-term rental situation with them, which feels perfect for the moment.
It just doesn’t look like what we’d “planned.”
Honestly, I have to chuckle at that “planning” now — as if a time like this (so chock full of daily transformation and evolution) can be strategized in the way I used to attempt to lay my life out.
I think that their offer of a possibly-permanent situation came along to shake us out of that planning, and bring me right back to the “Here I Am/Here We Be” that is at the heart of this adventure.
I’ve been deepening into a sense of calm and avid curiosity on this journey, and as I’ve continued to downsize/off-gas possessions, I’m unpacking a lot of internal stuff, too — taking out old assumptions and motivations and examining them to see which ones are still important to me, which ones I may want to keep for archival purposes, and which ones have become the solid, must-have tools of my daily life.
In other words: All of this feels perfect.
One of the most interesting examinations I’ve been doing has to do with the very concept of “adventure” — when we left the little house on Lincoln Street in Port Townsend, we had a definite sense of moving forward into something that was unknown. Far from being scared (even though several friends labeled me as “brave” for doing this), I simply felt excited and curious about what might unfold.
When the possibility of remaining here in a long-term way opened up, I was fascinated to watch my own process. Some internal mental voice seemed to immediately hold that possibility as not being “on the adventure.”
This same voice seemed simultaneously judgmental about this and slightly relieved, wanting to just get down to the business of “settling in.” Ah, my mind — always so complex! Always so busy!
So it is that Ashielah and I have been playing with the notion of remaining on our adventure in a perpetual fashion, regardless of where we are or what we are doing — talking about what keeps us present, and what tends to distract us from presence.
It’s very rich ground for me, to examine the things that I think I need to feel “at home” as opposed to the things that I actually need to feel at home.
Still, as delightful as this place is, and as perfect as it is for us at this moment, I don’t have a sense that this is where we will remain long-term.
I think it is serving perfectly — as my decompression chamber from decades of strategizing a “planned” life to living a present life.
That is quite a departure from the status quo programming about how one “should” create a life; after all, I was trained from childhood to believe that it was of utter importance to know where I was going and, perhaps more importantly, how I was going to get there.
See? There’s one of the things I’m unpacking. Taking out, piece by piece, and assessing — and this is something I’m discovering anew: I think it is important to have a sense of where I want to go — but I’m no longer so convinced of the importance of the “how.”
When I get in the car with the intent to go to the library, or the gas station, or the charming little corner store that’s recently stolen my heart with its local produce and grinning cashiers, I head down the little gravel road and get on the highway and come to a crossroads and make a choice about what errand I want to focus on first.
The truth is, though, that anything might happen on the way. There might be a branch blown down over the road, or they might be repaving the highway, or a procession of jugglers might just then be making their way to a celebration at the charming corner store — you just never know.
These days, I’m quite content to take the branch as a sign that this isn’t the time to go to town, or that that big ledge in the cut pavement means that I’ll turn right instead of left, or to pull in behind the jugglers and crawl along at 5 mph and ask a couple of them to perch on the hood as I join their parade.
Because I’ve discovered that, once I set the “what,” the Universe usually has better, more creative, and infinitely more fun ways of offering up the “how.”
That’s what I’m doing, still here in the NW.
I’ve been aware for weeks that this blog is sitting here, waiting for me to update, and I see, now, how some of my old training contributed to a resistance to just sit down and let you know what we are doing now. “How can I explain this?” kept rolling through my brain.
I can’t explain it, and I don’t want to explain it. I want to share it with you.
Today, we had our first real Summer weather — eighty-some degrees of perfection — and if, as someone I bumped into recently is correct that “It’s hard to achieve escape velocity from Port Townsend,” — it’s especially hard to imagine moving along right now.
I will wait until I am called clearly to the next perfect place and time. If you are the angel who is pointing me there, speak up clearly. 🙂