Woke at five, did my sitting (never once got to ten before needing to start over again, each and every countless time), fed the dogs, cleaned up poop, made my breakfast, glanced at the paper, checked the sky, the temperature (so cool the heat came on), emails, Facebook. There, I saw and shared this photo, with my caption: That’s where I am…sitting with that big white spacious surface…creating my life…one stroke at a time.
Scrolling down a bit further, I saw my friend Heather’s status and link, inviting us to read and send a “love note comment” to her guest post on changing our past life stories: http://www.sacredcirclecreativelife.com/hullabaloo/changing-the-stories-of-the-past/ Her post and its similarities to my own childhood story evoked my response:
I, too, grew up in a small town, one literally bridged to a big city in another country, and was influenced by both dynamics and cultures. That’s why I’ve described myself as being a “bridge,” “having a foot in both worlds,” and occasionally “being in the world and not of it”— all stories.
I, too, know that deep, almost inchoate story of insecurity, of not fitting in, never feeling-being enough, that even today, when in new situations with new people, rears itself up. The story I so deeply learned so long ago, that echoes, is that I won’t be liked, and I’d better be careful not to reveal too much, if any, of who I really am.
I had a colleague who grew up with a very different story…one that really is almost unfathomable to me – that whenever she shows up somewhere new, people will be delighted to meet her. I remember being so struck by that and how I saw it giving her the ground and permission to be and bring her full self into most any new context.
At this time in my “neutral zone”, that “in between” place of having just ended well my one career, wherein I was recently deeply affirmed in having been and given enough, and creating-sensing what comes next, your post has helped me coalescse the whisps of knowing that might inspire me to write and post today. Thank you, ever…one love note to another.
I’m not sure what those whisps are saying. I do know, again, that when I’m deep in process, in that “neutral zone” between what has ended and what is to begin, like a bridge spanning between two worlds, I’m not likely to write much, as has been the case for these past weeks.
A while back I announced that I was now “SELF employed,” implying I am now “on call” to be led by a deeper, inner calling, and that while I’m keen to parlay the experiences, skills and wisdom gleaned from these past thirty plus years into new contexts with new people, I hope to be delightfully surprised along the way.
So for last few weeks I’ve been alternating between letting the ground rest, tilling it gently, and casting both far and wide, and near and close, seeds of invitation for those “what next” partnerings and possibilities. And throughout, I’m “living local with love” by:
- shopping fresh at our farmers’ markets and cooking the results;
- appreciating the talent and venue of our annual Shakespeare in the Park, my community “Patio Series” of outdoor music, and the diverse celebration of creative visual expression at the annual Whyte Avenue Art Walk;
- enjoying a “deep breakfast” conversation and continental americano and brioche at the Duchess, the perfect quinoa and roasted squash salad at Enjoy’s Prairie Bistro, and potluck bbq at our Ginger Gathering on Pigeon Lake – all in the same day;
- feeling pleasantly and imaginatively displaced to another part of the world by lunching al fresco at Murrieta’s and Culina Muttart, and the classy upper story terrace of our art gallery.
A note about a most recent “delightful surprise” — seeing an owl, in full view to one who noticed, perched high on a sign as I drove home from “dancing my prayers” last Sunday at noon. An owl that, when I consulted the totem cards created by local artist Sandra Kunz and purchased from her at the Art Walk, spoke the same message it did that day when I first drew it in response to my question about my “what next”: “Trust Yourself.”
Thank you, Heather, and my dear Culina Muttart lunchtime friend, for the inspiration to write today.