Until September
Here we are, at the end of July. These lines from Whitman's Song of the Open Road, 5 speak to me:
I am larger, better than I thought,
I did not know I held so much goodness.
Last night was the fourth and final Queering the Page teen group, and one of the exercises we did was to write letters from our future selves to our now selves. One person wrote from three hours in the future, another from 30 years. I opted for 20 years (shared in today's newsletter).
What occurs to me, as I embark on my fifth annual August break, is this: The future always begins right now. Or maybe it never begins, because time has no beginning. We could get super philosophical here.
(That reminds me – total aside – Aviva and I went to see Marcel the Shell with Shoes On and it is SO delightful and tender and funny and wonderful. At one point, Marcel says he is having "a broad spectrum of emotion," and all I can say is that I felt... seen!)
Back to time and the future... August is the future. Three hours from this moment is the future. In fact, the you I am writing to you is in the future, because the moment when you're reading this doesn't exist yet. Or does it?
Whew! Anyway, all of this could mean at least two things:
* It's a good thing I'm taking a month off.
* How I envision my future – the 20-year variety – is inextricable from how I spend that time.
We always think we have time, right? It's one of the most cliché things, in a way, the thing you hear when the unexpected diagnosis comes, or the sudden loss. What if we don't wait for that moment to live with more conscious intention? What if we do the things NOW that we say we want more of LATER?
I have spent a good part of my life – from childhood right on through this summer – worrying. Worrying about things that already happened. Worrying about things that haven't happened yet but might still. Worrying about what I said or didn't say, did or didn't do. There's a lot of "right" and "wrong" in there, that infamous trio "shoulda woulda coulda," and extreme false binaries that don't account for life's nuance, mystery, and grace.
At the end of the day, all of it is simply a misguided form of self-protection. These thought loops double down on themselves, deepening their grooves and sending out flares to the body with every rotation. Changing them is possible – and takes attention, time, focus, consistency, patience, and heaps of compassion.
I have also spent a good part of my life turning towards and practicing ways to be more present, more at peace internally, and more accepting and forgiving of my own imperfections. As you know, this is largely the basis for my work in the world. It's a pretty classic case of "we teach what we have to learn." Clearly I'm a lifelong learner.
Back to the movie for a sec. In one of many tender moments, Marcel the Shell, on the precipice of making a brave decision, asks his Nana Connie (played by none other than Isabella Rossellini), "But what if everything changes again?" I loved her knowing response: "It will!"
Each morning this week, I chose a card from my beautiful Vintage Oracle deck. The word on yesterday's card was "change." So apropos. How I relate to change, how I hold on and let go, how I find trust and ease even when I can't see beyond the moment I'm in, has everything to do with not waiting for some future date or external outcome to be able to relax.
Taking August off has become a cornerstone of my year. It's time to unplug, unwind, restore, and recharge. It's time for more stillness and slowness. It's time to read and read and read, sit under a tree, float in a pond, and visit with friends. It's time to not look at Google calendar or Zoom or social media or MailChimp.
It's time to remember how much goodness I hold.
I have very few plans for the month. We move on the 20th, so our apartment is already filling up with boxes and bubble wrap. We will say goodbye to the place we've called home for eight years and begin anew. I'm excited to have a sunroom, a yard, a park just up the road, my piano again, and space for the pink chairs I bought for my brief brick-and-mortar office days!
I hope these words find your future self exactly where you are in the present moment. I hope reading this reminds you that you are larger, better than you thought. I hope whatever you are doing today has elements of what you most want and need for the future. I hope you are gentle with yourself.
See you in September!
Is More Writing in Your Future?
Work with me 1:1 … details + calendar
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Harvest: A 10-Week Writing Group … details + registrationTuesdays, September 13 - November 15
11:30am - 1:00pm EST– OR –
Thursdays, September 15 - November 17
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Show & Tell (for Grown-Ups!)… details + registration
Sunday, October 23
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Dive Into Poetry… details + registration
November 1-30
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