Today I am hoisting my anchor, raising my sail, and setting off to lands unknown. Trusting that I will be able to navigate my way thru this ‘in-between place.’
The ‘in-between’ place is the place of mists, of shadows, of not knowing. It is the surfer who sits out on the ocean, drifting with the currents, waiting for that big wave that will finally pick her up and bring her roaring onto shore. It is that place where you know something is shifting, changing, taking form. But for the life of you, you don’t know what it is.
Sometimes I strain so hard for the answer. Trying to peek around a corner that is not visible yet. With each new day, that anxiety in my belly grows. In a society that prizes accomplishment and the great race, I am standing back at the starting line. Each morning a prayer goes out: ‘Please. Help me figure it out. Help me understand how I am meant to serve. Help me see what my future looks like?’ Squeezing my brain so hard trying to force out the answer. In a panic because the rest of my life’s vision has not appeared to me fully formed.
And it is frustrating. I thought I had it all figured out. After years of similar agony, I went back to school and got a degree in landscape architecture and then went on to practice for over 12 years – thinking: At last! That’s it! I know what I’m here to do.
But it looks like that is not the end of my story. Somehow, there is more, something else evolving. I can feel it on my shoulder, whispering in my heart – there is more. Something new that weaves this love of the earth with the joy I feel up on stage or teaching a workshop on sustainable landscaping, or coaching a student in discovering their power as a speaker. And I know a huge key is bringing my writings, ‘Skins I Have Worn,‘ to life on stage. But I don’t know what that final form looks like yet.
So how do I hear it? How do I bring the answers out into the light? Over and over again, I’ve been told: go quiet, be still. Listen to the voice inside. But the silence can be scary. In the quiet all the swamp monsters come creeping out. My fears and doubts rise above me like giant creatures of myth.
I understand why there is a tendency is to stay busy. To say yes to all the activities that keep me too busy to hear the deafening sound of my un-ease and discomfort. Too busy to just sit with the stillness, the quiet. Too busy to let the fears rise up and up, and then dissipate as I finally acknowledge them and then let them go.
But if I let it, there is something else in the stillness. Something that is soft and gentle and infinitely comforting. It speaks to me in images, in thoughts that cannot be found in a dictionary. It reminds me that I already am. Maybe I don’t yet know what to DO yet, but I already am. It is in my DNA, in my imaginings, in my dreams, even if I don’t remember them in the morning.
And so, while I am in this space all I can do, is let go, breathe, and write…
This morning I woke up and wrote about what I knew to be true. Taking shape in the darkness, in the warm cave, in the mists of my imagination:
It is creativity and earth. And women and circles. It is spirit and voice and expression. All of that.
It is singing, and dancing and crying. It is fires and poetry, and women and circles.
It is oak trees and river banks and breezes on a mountain top. It is moonlight and dawn and all of that.
It is coaching and teaching and arms uplifted to the sky and the great god creativity. It is support and friendship and great, great abundance.
It is hard wood floors, bright glass windows. It is quiet, and it is sound. It is all of that.
And I don’t know what the business will look like. And I don’t know exactly what service it will provide. And I don’t know how it will transform the clients I will work with. But I do know that it is true.
And from that seed, a tree will grow.
So, I am in the in-between place. Holding to the faith that when things are right, when the notes harmonize, and the levels blend, then the next leg of my journey will become clear.
Until then, I let go, breathe and write.