so…. what now?

We received word this past week that the buyer's financing was approved. The sale of the house is looking pretty darn solid. Come August 15th, we'll be without a home. I'll lack an office space for my private practice. Bradford will be giving up his full-time work as a sub-contracting carpenter. By then, we'll have sold off most or all of our furniture, have downsized our possessions to some clothing, toiletries, a few books, and a couple of dog beds. I'll keep my laptop. We'll keep one or both trucks for moving around the world.

Feels weird. Feels surreal. Feels good. All of it.

I'm much more in contact with the unknown, the can't-be-known. So much of my life I've devoted tremendous energy to figuring out what's next. First this, then this, then that. Now, I sit wondering and waiting to see what arises. As previously mentioned, in the past I've offered my current experience precious little in the way of true attention, everything simply leading to the next thing. A hope that by anticipating the next thing, chaos won't ensue - life won't tumble out of control into tragic consequences (or even uncomfortable scenarios).

A consequence of this habit was that I found Life somewhat uninspiring. I had my schedule, my systems and my structures in place and little room was left for surprise to seep in. Many people can relate to the premise of the movie "Groundhog Day," I'm no exception. I'd wake up most mornings and go searching in my mind for the day of the week. As soon as I found it, the space of awareness was filled with my understanding of what lay ahead of me.

I did everything in my power to make these pre-programmed routines as wonderful and comfortable as possible. I reduced my work schedule to 3 days a week, 6 hour days. I incorporated reading, meditation, running, kayaking, time in the woods, cooking, photography and writing. All sorts of 'good stuff.' Very little surprise outside of the occasional client canceling their session or the unexpected interface with a large mammal in the woods.

In my core, I felt alive. On the surface, I felt asleep.

I didn't see anything very different reflected in the people around me. Most of us migrate to schedules and predictable living. I noticed some people however, appearing to call up energy, albeit unconsciously by fabricating drama. I saw people exhausted by the 'unexpected' conflicts and dilemmas in their lives; nonstop demands to put out fires, draw swords, or wrestle tigers in the form of co-workers, relatives, and neighbors. And I wanted to avoid that way of feeling energized believing that most of it was self-created and kind of toxic.

I see that I have a fear of the unknown and this fear was snuffing out many possibilities and directions in my life. If an idea or experience fell too far outside of my idea of comfort, I backed off, reaching for my blankie in the form of this comfortable existence, this beautiful space. At the same time, I felt deeply disconnected from living.

I'm not interested in taking up sword-swallowing or busking on the streets of Boston (but, then again, I've never considered it). I'm interested in letting go of the shore that my boat has been anchored on for decades. I'm interested in what the currents are doing, how they're moving and where I could go.

From a practical perspective (I'm still Martha after all), Bradford and I are exploring professional caretaking as a transitional experience, one that would provide a roof over our heads and a place to land. I've built a small webpage to articulate our offerings as two middle-aged, somewhat skillful and overly-educated people who are wanting to be of service to others. We'll see what comes of throwing this fishing line out into the sea.

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