It's shifted from every room in the house being occupied to an empty house, save the dogs, the cat and me. We all took Elsa and Hugh to their evening flight, Harry left for a sleepover, and Dave went to the office. I returned home to the dust bunnies and left over laundry. My heart echoing in the aloneness as I dreamed of a warm bath or a friend's surprise visit with a bottle of wine to numb my aching. Instead, I tried to salve myself with cheerful mental snapshots of our holiday togetherness, even embracing our 4 day journey back from Jackson that included 2 extra nights in 2 different hotels in one room, 3 trips on 3 different days to the airport only to have to go back again because of canceled flights, and finally a red eye that included 4 stops in 4 different airports to get home.
This leaving: being left feeling doesn't get easier, but the connection time when we are all together does seem to get stronger. Our ability to travel and go with the woes as a family who enjoys each other's company and is present to each person's needs and wants does fill me up, make me think that Dave and I have done something right in the world. I don't think that makes us extraordinary or anything, but I do find comfort in knowing that our house was just filled with teenagers who wanted to be home. (Harry is basically a teenager at this point- being that he has gone from baby of the family to only child. I think that gives him creds in the teen department:)
But back to the echos and leaving/left situation. With these new and repeated vacancies in our life, I find that I still feel the pain of longing and missing but that I am improving my acceptance of the situation. I am not numbing or running to fill the void, though I still get tempted. I'm learning to live better with the sadness. Not so long ago I would find myself in misery for days, cloaked in judgement and depression, fearful of engaging with the world, hostile with my limitations and surround-sound existence of unworthiness. And while those feelings can get visceral when I write them on this page, there in lies a soft faith that even in this present chasm of sorrow I can sit with my discomfort, my tears and emptiness believing that things will shift eventually. I can accept my humanness and mother myself with a tender heart, just like I do with my kids- especially right before they leave. With Hugh I gave him a haircut on the patio, touching and tilting his head, wiping the loose hairs off his shoulders, taking in his stature, his trust. I spooned Else on her bed as she tried to snooze a moment longer with Coco, and instead of sleeping she talked about her excitement and angst about going back to school while holding my hand. That these growing-up kids turn to me for a quiet centering before they return to campus restores me and helps me realize that I am valued for my energetic current that seems to ground the lot of us when things get wobbly. The intimacies between us only seem to grow.
There are other vacancies as well, stirring the pot and making room for something else. I have just sold 2/3 of my paintings that has graced our walls since we moved in- some brought down in the container and some painted here There are now bare walls in our home, and anyone who has ever been to our house knows that this is an oddity in and of itself. But the the truth is... I have always imagined my art in some cool and beach-y boutique hotel and this dream has manifested. And the new voids within our concrete abode make me aware of a dream being manifested and how newly revealed "space"is an opportunity to invite more dreams. And because January tends to be a big month for me, between New Year's intentions and a birthday, I find myself at the start of a new chapter where different plots are becoming- some are being planted, some lie fallow, and some are being reaped with dirty hands and wide smiles. I am both invigorated by the possibility and allow my heart to rest heavy in our, again, quieter house.
It will forever be a practice to re-member my sensitive psyche and re-center myself within a space that lets the light in. But, just as I am more present to what it takes to/what makes me feel good, I can nod to the sorrows and darkness that once were perpetual visitors. With the vacancies that arise I can meet them as I would greet grief. Good-byes, just like endings, will never get easier. As Shel Silverstein says, “There are no happy endings, endings are the saddest part. So just give me a happy middle and a very happy start.” And with my heart twisted up all over again, I embody the excitement and the anxiety of what is on the horizon for 2022, leaning into a very happy start.
This week, month, year ahead I will be teaching yoga in a studio after 10 years; we will be renovating our house; I will be offering Reiki to clients; we will see Hugh off to college; and we will witness the the ending to an amazing era of Spiked Seltzer. I will keep taking one step after the other, practicing what I want to get stronger and releasing what is holding me down, appreciating the millions of steps, leaps, trips and falls that I have already taken to get me to today. As Dave says, "Well, if I have to get older- I might as well get better!" And I say, "Cheers to that."
Wishing you all a bright outlook for 2022 with joy, inspiration, community and hope to lean on.
With love and light,
St. Sunshine
PS- I'd love to hear from you about your horizons, manifestations and even your woes as we ring in this new year.
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