on Movement
Back in October I made a decision. It was such a good decision. And it changed, for the better, the direction of my life. There has not been a moment since that I have regretted making it. I have feared that it might lead to failure, only to then remind myself that failure is sometimes a trick of the eye (or how we choose to define it). And so I have put one foot in front of the other, so sure that whatever I was moving towards, was better than standing still--and I have stood still for far too long (see: fear). And for the first few months, my decision was directional. I had tasks and lists and boxes to check. But then came the waiting. Which I always knew was going to come, and I always knew I wasn't going to like. But it was necessary--a part of the process. The waiting to find out. The great, big, gaping unknown. And sitting in unknown has never really been...well, you know, a thing that I'm good at.
Years ago, in a funk--when funks were more often than not--I went to see Tom. And Tom pointed out that the funks seemed to show up whenever my life lacked movement. When things felt still, settled, unyielding.
I crave movement. All. the. time.
Which brings us back to this moment, right now. This moment where the directionality of my plan (and life) is purposefully on pause, and I don't yet know what will come next. In some ways, the fact that I am breathing, at all, is a miracle. And yet, I know I will look back on this time, years from now--minutes from now, even--as nothing short of miraculous. Holy even.
That being said, there was a morning last week--probably the morning after I'd congratulated myself on not falling down the rabbit-hole of old habits--that I did not want to get out of bed. (God was I good at sleeping through depression). And as I lay in bed, a small, slow panic settling in, there came a thought: movement.
I may not be able to move mountains today, but I can fake the feeling. I can create literal, physical, actual movement.
So I sat upright and got to work. I tasked myself with five things to do before noon (which is, still to this day, some of the best advice I've ever received), and I created physical movement around me. I turned on the small fan I keep in the corner to get some air circulating. I stripped the bed of the sheets and started a load of laundry (actual, physical, circular movement). I took a shower, washed my hair, swiped on some perfume--some lipstick, too. I watered the plants, making sure something would grow on this day. I lit a candle, watched it flicker. I ran a vacuum over the rug, and then I turned on the music just a bit too loud, and gave thanks for it all. The mess and frustration and stillness and movement and this very holy season.
And the funk moved right on by.
February Playlist
1. Only the Wild Ones | Dispatch
2. Patron Saint of Rock and Roll | Jon Foreman
3. Quiet | MILCK
4. Catch the Wind | Oliver Daldry
5. Everything Has Grown | Colouring
6. Runnin' | FIELDS
7. It'll Rain Today | Michelle Willis
8. Alcatraz | Oliver Riot
A letter to my twenty-one-year-old self:
There is not one thing you are meant to know before you are meant to know it. There is no short-cut to growing up. And even if there was, you would find that later on in life, you'd pay for that many times over. You already understand kindness and empathy and work ethic. That is a good start because they are sturdy and important and foundational. They are also simple--and when everything else falls away, they alone will make you rich.
Beyond that I'll say this: take Excedrin for headaches, wear sunscreen, and always (ALWAYS) finish a course of antibiotics. But that's it. That's all I've got for you. Because everything else you need to learn on your own. And it'll be how you learn it that will shape the woman you'll become.
Just keep showing up--even, and especially when, it's most uncomfortable. You can't plot the future, but you sure as hell can enjoy the ride.
Happiness
Just the other day a friend asked me if I know what makes me happy. And I sort of chuckled because, yes, yes of course, I do! If I don't, then I'm not sure what the hell the last ten years have been about.
And yet, I couldn't answer his question quickly. There are the easy answers: a good cup of coffee, fresh flowers, an afternoon in the mountains, climbing into my own bed, a live concert, a good book, a warm bath. But really it is the feeling of those things--small thrills rubbing up against a deep comfort.
But those things--and those feelings--are not the whole of story.
My real secret is this: I make sure that my actions align with my value system.
Which is not to say that I always succeed, often I don't. But I constantly strive in that direction. What this means is I do the scary thing, even if I fear it won't work out--I take the leap and do my best not to worry about the result. I lean into discomfort when it is part of a larger pursuit of meaning. Because if I honor my value system, through both my actions and words, then I go to bed at night comfortable with who I am. And in today's heated climate, almost nothing is more important. Revolutions begin with individuals, and then we go from there.