The other night, I was awake at 3am stewing on shit. The kind of stuff most of us stew on when we wake up around 3am. You see, Life has begun to move. And I can't seem to get over my old habit of trying to commandeer the whole process.
A bit of back story: in the last few weeks, my partner, Bradford, and I agreed to see what would happen if we put the house on the market. We figured, maybe see what Life wants rather than try and figure it out. Over the last few months, both of us have been feeling the 'heaviness' of the show we've chosen; the investment of time, money, and energy that it takes to sustain our current lifestyle. Between mortgage payments, utilities, taxes, and maintenance this home keeps us beholden to the wheel of working.
Now, let me take a moment to clarify that I've got nothing against working. In fact, I find most work rather satisfying. Particularly physical work. I enjoy putting my muscles and my hands to affecting the world around me. I enjoy being creative (though it's not always obvious how I can be creative as a counselor). I enjoy seeing things happen in front of my eyes. Where I run aground is feeling welded to a profession because the choices I've made require that I keep a constant stream of financial resources coming in.
So, back to my predicament. We put our lovely home up for sale. We figured that if it sold, it was an indication from Life that it was time to change things up, lighten our earthly possessions, take a fresh look at living and see what other possibilities existed for us. If the home didn't sell, well then we'd stay put and continue to enjoy our current lifestyle. Trust Life. Lean into something more intelligent than our own minds which are riddled with fear and be open to something grander than our collective societal conditioning which tells us that life is about building stability and comfort and security.
The house hit the market on Friday, May 23rd. By Saturday there were two showings scheduled for Sunday, May 25th. By Sunday evening, we had two offers from folks wanting to purchase our home. It seemed that Life was indicating that it was time to let go of our home.
And now, a few days later, I'm tying myself into knots about how all of this will play out. Apparently, for me, leaning in and trusting Life has limits.
I was awake fretting about all the things that could go 'wrong' in the process of selling our home now that we were under contract. The buyer's financing could fall through. The inspections might discover some egregious issue of which we're not aware. Our water might have radon or arsenic or some other problem. My mind kept playing out all sorts of scenarios and then reacted to its own fears by trying to figure out how I will keep these imagined 'wrongs' from happening. What a self-created pickle!
That's what I mean by "lighten the world of 'me';" Life doesn't need my ideas of what 'should' happen. Life doesn't need my personal preferences nor my ideas of 'right' and 'wrong.' Life doesn't need my commentary, my interpretations, nor my judgments. These are the things that 'me' brings to life and Life doesn't need any of 'me.'
I was out hiking with the dogs the morning after my 3am fretting and I realized that all of this extra 'stuff' that I was bringing to life and this situation was unnecessary, unhelpful, and heavy. The contract could go through or not go through. The house could sell or not sell. Life would continue. It didn't matter. And the feeling of letting it all go to look after itself was delightfully light and peaceful. When I don't indulge my wants and preferences, when I see that Life doesn't need me to steer the ship then I'm freed up to simply en-joy the ride.
Nothing in the natural world apart from humans fret. And nothing in the non-human world puts the burden of itself onto Life.
Surprised to find myself mesmerized by the art of making syrup. Amazing that a maple tree will offer up its liquid in such great quantity and that heat will couple with time to create steam. All of this will conspire in divine syrup.
For hours in late March this year, I sat bundled outside by the propane stove, occasionally topping up the large boiler with clear sap stored in the 5 gallon bucket at my feet. I had a book in my lap as if, at any moment, to give the appearance that I was occupied in a 'normal' way. If someone had come in the driveway and seen me perched on the front porch, I could have looked up from the pages of my book and offered them the perception that I was engrossed in stretching my mind.
I wasn't stretching my mind. I was completely engrossed in the imperceptible transformation of sap into steam and syrup - for hours. Something about distillation pulls at me; to distill is "to take the most important parts of something and put them in a different and usually improved form" (Merriam-Webster online). Heat is needed. Liquid becomes vapor and then becomes liquid again. But what about the distillation of one's life? What is needed for this transformation?
Interesting how the timing of my hours beside the boiling sap occurred at the end of a very long, very cold winter. Perhaps a long winter provides the kind of heat to a person's life that draws them into change and transformation. Long nights, longs cold days, more stillness than movement - all of this maybe culminates in a stewing, culminates in questions. In the warmth of summer, too many options call me away into action and distraction. But the barren quality of winter itself distills a life into perhaps unanswerable questions.
The porch on which I perched rapt in the bubbles of sap happens to stretch along the south side of a grand 2500 square foot log-sided home, surrounded by 10+ acres of beautiful trees, fields, and gardens. This is my house. Not my first home but the house I thought might become my place to root. My home is also my office. From it I generate a rather respectable income as a counselor in private practice, along with my two dogs as co-therapists. My life also includes a wonderful partner who has put countless carpentry hours into coaxing more beauty and efficiency out of the home.
I have a charmed existence, free of strife, free from struggle. Many times I have wondered if my life is too easy, so easy that I have the luxury of too much free time to ask stupid questions - like "what is all this for? what's the point?" My capacity to question, to not settle down, to not simply feel satisfied is likely neurotic - a reflection of the human tendency to strive for happiness and our unwillingness to surrender and accept Life as It is.
Knowing this about myself has not diffused the energy in this neurotic pattern. Because as I sat watching the sap bubble, I could feel the winds of change blowing. I could feel my system turn towards a new direction. Heartache. I had fantasized that a comfortable, peaceful home in a beautiful place and a successful career would quiet the beast. Alas, the bubbles on the surface of the sap might as well have been the stirrings of my inner discontent, waking from slumber, calling for more. But the 'more' that was called for felt like a 'less' - less stuff, less security, less stability, less normalcy. The 'more' that was called for was a call for more life, more uncertainty, more awake-ness, more courage.
This kind of transformation would require a sort of heat, the sort of heat that comes from setting fire to my own life, alighting my world as I knew it and seeing what remained after the burn.
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