This morning, after a gorgeous weekend filled with discovery and laughter, I arrived at my office to find… normal. *sigh*
One of the continual life challenges I have to face is my love for action and change. These are not things I loved as a child but after a certain age, I found that if life wasn’t changing quickly enough, I was pretty comfortable making something happen. I like action. I love change. I enjoy the leaves dancing through the wind or the waves bringing in sand and moving that which it left previously. Nature is my friend simply because it is different every minute of every day. I like that.
Writing my name on the line to buy my house was one of the most difficult decisions I had to make as it meant stability. It meant being grounded to one house an one location for the foreseeable future. Although I know that my daughter needs this and she thrives on stability and consistency, it took me years to adjust to the idea that I wasn’t moving every few months. This home; this house; I was here to stay. The changes that would occur in my life had to be on different fronts.
As they are and were.
For the past year, almost, I worked through clouds and sand storms and wondrous and copious amounts of change.
And I have to admit that I haven’t minded the change in my own life though I have struggled with its impact on my daughter.
Although life is still in flux, the sand is settling; the winds are dying down, and the only aspect of nature floating and drifting is pollen – more of an irritant that leads to beauty than something that alters landscapes.
Now I find myself once again in a situation where I am asked to stop.
To sit and wait.
To find silence and stillness.
These are the characteristics of life that I need right now in order to come to terms with the changes and the lessons learned. It is through the quiet and stillness that I will grow stronger and be more able to find fulfillment in the moments and the simplest aspects of life.
I have to sit with this feeling of emptiness and trust and give an love exactly who and where I am.
That is what greeted me in my office this morning – the knowledge that this is me; this is where I am; and this is what life is at this moment.
And then I read this, written by Jay who recently packed up his bags and moved across country without much preparation. In that I mean he intended to do it but perhaps not as quickly as happened as he just “jumped.”
In Jay’s words I found a sense of peace and beauty about sitting and enjoying and loving the silence and the stillness that is where I am right now. I too have to wait for the water to clear.