Thursday afternoon at my parents' house, I walked down to the dock to test the water. It was too low to feel by letting my foot dangle in. So I climbed down the little wooden ladder to dip my toes in. The water was surprisingly warm.
Excited to go in (it had been a couple of years), I rushed back up the steps and into the freezing cold air conditioned house. Found my bathing suit, wishing I didn't need to. Called Anshu to say she could come over any time. Listened to a message from Tim but had to get a swim in before calling back. Went back upstairs and found my mom standing in the kitchen wearing a t-shirt she’d bought in Jamaica 15 years ago. It said “No problem.” I thought it was funny considering the worry she had expressed earlier about me camping alone.
I told her I was going swimming, knowing she'd probably worry a little about me swimming alone, but also knowing that she had no interest in coming outside; she doesn't like the heat.
So I went back down to the lake, walked out to the end of the dock. The wood was grey, faded from the sun. It had a neglected feel to it. Not visited enough.
I wasn't ready to jump in. But without the hesitation that I often used to feel about going in the lake, I excitedly climbed down the other cobweb-covered ladder at the deep end of the dock.
I climbed down the ladder and got in faster than ever before. Partially because of the temperature. But partially because I just felt more comfortable. Less holding back. Less fear.
It felt so good to be in the water.
I realized that never before had I felt so good swimming in the lake. Even when I was a little girl and giggling and having fun with friends, there was always a fear. I couldn’t even look under the dock or let my legs dangle straight down. My fears weren't even as much about drowning as they were about totally unrealistic things.
But today none of those silly fears got in my way. Seaweed kept wrapping itself around me, and instead of creeping me out or irritating me, I danced with it.
I enjoyed floating, bobbing up and down with the waves, rather than getting disturbed or frightened by the waves enough to stop floating. I used to try to avoid or fight the waves, move into them, rather than move with them. It felt so much better just surrendering and trusting and relaxing and enjoying the ride. Smiling. Breathing. Arms open wide.
I got out of the water, walked down to the other end of the dock, and decided to visit the shallow part of the lake, see what it felt like to walk in the water with my "new legs." I'd just come home from a CranioSacral session in which there was some major re-connecting with my legs. And walking actually did feel different, better, both on dry land and in the lake.
And then I conquered another childhood lake fear: swimming out towards the end of the dock. Why was this scary? I don't really know. I think part of it had to do with a little seaweed forest and not wanting anything touching me. But I no longer cared about that. In fact, I liked the feel of the seaweed touching me. So I did it. I swam through it, and it was great.
I also looked under the dock. No change in heart rate. No fear of sharks or sea monsters.
I smiled.
I wondered why I had always been so afraid. What was I so afraid of?
And then I saw my mom looking out from the inside the house. I waved. And I laughed as I realized that part of my fear was probably born into me. From my mother’s breathing pattern and nervous system. Part of it was from things she’d say, not about water, but just about being careful. And part of it had been from watching Jaws and other horror movies at an early age. Oh, and part of it was from getting swept under in Italy. And maybe part of it even has to do with a past life issue.
A couple of years ago, during a rolfing session, while the therapist worked on my left calf, I felt something shoot up towards my head, developed vertigo that would last for a month, and saw an image of a weight being tied to my left ankle or calf to way my body down into the water. Who knows if it was just my imagination or if there are past lives. I don't know. But as I've been saying about a lot of things lately: I'm open to the possibility.
It doesn't really matter why I was afraid though. What matters is that I'm not anymore. I was so pleasantly surprised by this swim. I will never forget it.
-->
© 2009
Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Dancing on the plane
On my drive down from Anacortes to Mercer Island, I thought about the journey ahead of me, the hours of driving. On Friday I'm heading further south, back down to Esalen. I woke up yesterday morning wondering why I wasn't going. I woke up today knowing I wanted to go and deserved to go, but that a road trip was the only way I could be excited about the journey instead of stressed out about getting there and back. My only concern is physical discomfort from sitting so much in the car. So I practiced moving while driving, stretching out my arms, one arm at a time, dancing in my seat, tilting my pelvis front to back and side to side, all while still paying attention to the road and the other drivers. Just refusing to sit so still and rigid as we often do when driving. And this reminded me of a blog entry I started writing but never posted. Here it is:
I was sitting on a plane, after sitting in an airport, after sitting on a shuttle bus, after sitting on the BART, after sitting in a car, after sitting in class.
I’d say this was about 10 hours of sitting, maybe more. Definitely more, by the time I returned home from Esalen.
So on the plane, after hours of sitting, my body was dying for some movement. My plane had been delayed so I knew I wouldn’t be going out dancing. Originally I was thinking about going out dancing the minute I arrived in Seattle. However, even if the plane had been on time, I probably wouldn’t have gone out; I was so sleep deprived from getting woken up every hour at Esalen by a snoring roommate.
So on that plane, I thought about dancing. I wanted to dance. I listened to music and felt my body start to move, while still seated. I wondered what it would be like to get up and just totally let loose, dancing up and down the aisle of the plane. Would I get in trouble? Or just stared at? I wouldn’t care, either way. It would feel so good.
And then I smiled as I remembered the first time I thought of this. When I was seventeen and on a plane to Israel. At that time, only a year had passed since my car accident, only 8 months had passed since I had taken off my body jacket, and I so I was still very much in the habit of not moving, of being overly protective and self-conscious. I wouldn’t even dance in my seat. But deep within, my body knew, my soul knew, it had to move. It had to dance. So in my mind’s eye, I imagined myself dancing, though I didn’t dare move.
Twelve years later, listening to “On and On” by Missy Elliott, on a plane, dancing in my seat, I was reminded of that time. So happy that now I do move. Finding it interesting that back then some part of me felt just as moved by the music, but some other part of me stopped myself from moving. There are times that I can barely stop myself from moving now. I can barely stand or sit still if I’m tuned in to my body, with or without music.
I no longer care so much about what others might think. I don’t care as much if I’m being watched, what I look like. I just let go, let myself move and be moved.
I do stop myself from standing up to dance on the plane. But maybe someday I won’t. And as I have this thought, this someday I won’t thought, I wonder if today is that someday. So I get up.
I stand up and walk down the aisle, swaying my hips, moving my arms. Not fully dancing. But not just walking. And I go to the bathroom. As soon as I shut the door. I do a little dance, smiling and laughing. Feeling so good. And thinking it’s so funny that I have to do my little dance in the bathroom. And so happy that I have a little dance to do, even if it is in an airplane bathroom.
Before exiting the bathroom, I do another little dance. Really shake it. As much as I can in that cramped space. Again, I crack myself up! Silly girl. Wise woman. All in one.
And when I exit the bathroom, nobody’s waiting for it, so I stand in the back where the flight attendant is pouring drinks. I stretch. I twist. And then I ask her, “Has anyone ever stood up on the plane and just started dancing?”
She doesn’t really look me in the eyes. She seems uncomfortable or caught off guard by my question, and she answers, “No, but people do all kinds of strange things. One time I saw an older lady in the airport doing a full-blown aerobics routine.”
She thinks this is strange.
I think this is wonderful,
And so I say, “That’s great! I think most people are so bound up, standing or sitting still too much. We really need to move more.”
She doesn’t say anything. I go back to listening to my music and walk back to my seat.
And I don’t sit down.
I stand. In front of my seat. I stand.
And then I start to move a little. Still not totally and completely dancing. But sort of dancing. Not just standing. And not really just stretching. Sort of dancing. Still holding back, but not as much as in the past. This is progress. This feels good. This could feel even better, if I weren't holding back at all. But what a long way I've come since that plane ride to Israel when I was seventeen. I think back to that time. I think about where I am now, who I am now. I take a deep breath. I smile. And I sit down, continuing to dance in my seat until we land.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
I was sitting on a plane, after sitting in an airport, after sitting on a shuttle bus, after sitting on the BART, after sitting in a car, after sitting in class.
I’d say this was about 10 hours of sitting, maybe more. Definitely more, by the time I returned home from Esalen.
So on the plane, after hours of sitting, my body was dying for some movement. My plane had been delayed so I knew I wouldn’t be going out dancing. Originally I was thinking about going out dancing the minute I arrived in Seattle. However, even if the plane had been on time, I probably wouldn’t have gone out; I was so sleep deprived from getting woken up every hour at Esalen by a snoring roommate.
So on that plane, I thought about dancing. I wanted to dance. I listened to music and felt my body start to move, while still seated. I wondered what it would be like to get up and just totally let loose, dancing up and down the aisle of the plane. Would I get in trouble? Or just stared at? I wouldn’t care, either way. It would feel so good.
And then I smiled as I remembered the first time I thought of this. When I was seventeen and on a plane to Israel. At that time, only a year had passed since my car accident, only 8 months had passed since I had taken off my body jacket, and I so I was still very much in the habit of not moving, of being overly protective and self-conscious. I wouldn’t even dance in my seat. But deep within, my body knew, my soul knew, it had to move. It had to dance. So in my mind’s eye, I imagined myself dancing, though I didn’t dare move.
Twelve years later, listening to “On and On” by Missy Elliott, on a plane, dancing in my seat, I was reminded of that time. So happy that now I do move. Finding it interesting that back then some part of me felt just as moved by the music, but some other part of me stopped myself from moving. There are times that I can barely stop myself from moving now. I can barely stand or sit still if I’m tuned in to my body, with or without music.
I no longer care so much about what others might think. I don’t care as much if I’m being watched, what I look like. I just let go, let myself move and be moved.
I do stop myself from standing up to dance on the plane. But maybe someday I won’t. And as I have this thought, this someday I won’t thought, I wonder if today is that someday. So I get up.
I stand up and walk down the aisle, swaying my hips, moving my arms. Not fully dancing. But not just walking. And I go to the bathroom. As soon as I shut the door. I do a little dance, smiling and laughing. Feeling so good. And thinking it’s so funny that I have to do my little dance in the bathroom. And so happy that I have a little dance to do, even if it is in an airplane bathroom.
Before exiting the bathroom, I do another little dance. Really shake it. As much as I can in that cramped space. Again, I crack myself up! Silly girl. Wise woman. All in one.
And when I exit the bathroom, nobody’s waiting for it, so I stand in the back where the flight attendant is pouring drinks. I stretch. I twist. And then I ask her, “Has anyone ever stood up on the plane and just started dancing?”
She doesn’t really look me in the eyes. She seems uncomfortable or caught off guard by my question, and she answers, “No, but people do all kinds of strange things. One time I saw an older lady in the airport doing a full-blown aerobics routine.”
She thinks this is strange.
I think this is wonderful,
And so I say, “That’s great! I think most people are so bound up, standing or sitting still too much. We really need to move more.”
She doesn’t say anything. I go back to listening to my music and walk back to my seat.
And I don’t sit down.
I stand. In front of my seat. I stand.
And then I start to move a little. Still not totally and completely dancing. But sort of dancing. Not just standing. And not really just stretching. Sort of dancing. Still holding back, but not as much as in the past. This is progress. This feels good. This could feel even better, if I weren't holding back at all. But what a long way I've come since that plane ride to Israel when I was seventeen. I think back to that time. I think about where I am now, who I am now. I take a deep breath. I smile. And I sit down, continuing to dance in my seat until we land.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Clothing is so overrated!
I'm going for a walk out to the marina. It's hot out. I'm hot. I'm wearing linen pants and a tank top. I feel a slight breeze as I walk along the water. I want to feel it more. I want to take off my clothes. And not even because of the sun beating down on me. But because I want to feel free again. And I don't want to hide. I don't want to hide this body of mine. This body that's been through so much. I don't want to hide my scars anymore.
I feel so restrained by this clothing I wear. I've become hyper-aware of the clothing I wear, and I think I'd be happier living somewhere that doesn't make such a big deal about nudity. A place where I could walk around naked if that's what I wanted. And without it being a big deal. Just natural. Free. Accepted. Beautiful. Comfortable. Where is this place? Out of the country? Must I leave the states? Or join a nudist camp? It pisses me off that I can't walk around naked outside of my home unless I'm somewhere designated as "clothing optional." I never thought I'd feel this way. But after a weekend at a clothing optional campsite, I'll just never be the same. And it saddens me that I hesitate even to post this blog, or to tell certain people about my experience and how I feel.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
I feel so restrained by this clothing I wear. I've become hyper-aware of the clothing I wear, and I think I'd be happier living somewhere that doesn't make such a big deal about nudity. A place where I could walk around naked if that's what I wanted. And without it being a big deal. Just natural. Free. Accepted. Beautiful. Comfortable. Where is this place? Out of the country? Must I leave the states? Or join a nudist camp? It pisses me off that I can't walk around naked outside of my home unless I'm somewhere designated as "clothing optional." I never thought I'd feel this way. But after a weekend at a clothing optional campsite, I'll just never be the same. And it saddens me that I hesitate even to post this blog, or to tell certain people about my experience and how I feel.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Surrendering
Today I am smiling.
It's been awhile since I've felt this way.
Actually it hasn't been that long. But it sure felt like it.
The past couple of weeks were a bit rough. But as always, I'm settling in and moving through it. I think I'm finally learning about and truly accepting cycles. Rather than being surprised or disappointed or otherwise upset by bumps in the road and downward spirals, I'm beginning to really trust that it's just part of the fullness of life. And I can handle it. Without even trying. Perhaps it's the trying that gets in the way. Perhaps it's better to just get out of the way. That's something I've been learning over this past year. And sometimes I get out of the way, and sometimes I'm tempted to interfere, to force things. But I'm learning more and more that I can't force anything. And deep down I don't want to. I just want to be. And so I am.
Once again, I surrender.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
It's been awhile since I've felt this way.
Actually it hasn't been that long. But it sure felt like it.
The past couple of weeks were a bit rough. But as always, I'm settling in and moving through it. I think I'm finally learning about and truly accepting cycles. Rather than being surprised or disappointed or otherwise upset by bumps in the road and downward spirals, I'm beginning to really trust that it's just part of the fullness of life. And I can handle it. Without even trying. Perhaps it's the trying that gets in the way. Perhaps it's better to just get out of the way. That's something I've been learning over this past year. And sometimes I get out of the way, and sometimes I'm tempted to interfere, to force things. But I'm learning more and more that I can't force anything. And deep down I don't want to. I just want to be. And so I am.
Once again, I surrender.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
vacation lessons?
Yesterday I had an idea about a new line of work, or maybe it’s just an additional service: teaching people how to be on vacation.
My friend Kay is staying with me this week. This woman I barely knew but who quickly became a good friend, had opened up her home to me all FOUR times I went to Austin over the past nine months. So when I told her I was thinking about canceling my trip to Croatia, and she told me she wanted to take a vacation in July, we decided she would come visit me!
I didn’t realize though until the second day she was here what a big deal it was. I didn’t realize that this woman was a stranger to vacationing. She’d traveled for workshops. But getting on a plane and going somewhere like here just for fun, just for vacation, just to be— that was new. And that is huge.
I think I’d be good at teaching people how to be on vacation. How to relax. How to do nothing. And how to just do whatever you feel like doing whenever you feel like doing it. I’m a pro.
Actually, I don’t even have to do much of anything. I just offer the space and my own calm vibe. The allowance. The encouragement. The extreme peace and quiet of this place. The “You can do anything! Or, you don’t have to do anything!” People who aren’t used to this will either learn how much they love it, or it’ll drive them so crazy that they’ll be happy to return to their busy, high-paced, stressful lives. Ha!
So I thought maybe I could invite people to come stay with me and I’d teach them how to vacate. But then I remembered how sensitive I am to other people’s vibes and that I require far too much space of my own for that. At least for now. But maybe, just maybe, maybe some day I won’t require so much space or feel so affected by the constant company of others. Maybe some day. Or maybe not! Maybe it’s just another idea. One of many, so many. So many ideas, and I’m enjoying them all just as they are. Just as ideas.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
My friend Kay is staying with me this week. This woman I barely knew but who quickly became a good friend, had opened up her home to me all FOUR times I went to Austin over the past nine months. So when I told her I was thinking about canceling my trip to Croatia, and she told me she wanted to take a vacation in July, we decided she would come visit me!
I didn’t realize though until the second day she was here what a big deal it was. I didn’t realize that this woman was a stranger to vacationing. She’d traveled for workshops. But getting on a plane and going somewhere like here just for fun, just for vacation, just to be— that was new. And that is huge.
I think I’d be good at teaching people how to be on vacation. How to relax. How to do nothing. And how to just do whatever you feel like doing whenever you feel like doing it. I’m a pro.
Actually, I don’t even have to do much of anything. I just offer the space and my own calm vibe. The allowance. The encouragement. The extreme peace and quiet of this place. The “You can do anything! Or, you don’t have to do anything!” People who aren’t used to this will either learn how much they love it, or it’ll drive them so crazy that they’ll be happy to return to their busy, high-paced, stressful lives. Ha!
So I thought maybe I could invite people to come stay with me and I’d teach them how to vacate. But then I remembered how sensitive I am to other people’s vibes and that I require far too much space of my own for that. At least for now. But maybe, just maybe, maybe some day I won’t require so much space or feel so affected by the constant company of others. Maybe some day. Or maybe not! Maybe it’s just another idea. One of many, so many. So many ideas, and I’m enjoying them all just as they are. Just as ideas.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
thinking of....
written last night....
It happens often. I’ll be thinking about someone, and then they call. And/or I’ll be thinking about something, and then that something’s mentioned. It happens often. But today was off the charts. One after another.
First, I check my email in the morning and see a newsletter from Kert’s sister. With Kay visiting I’ve been thinking of him more than usual, and although his sister is not him, I’ve decided this counts. Mostly it counts though because of what the newsletter referred to. It referred to putting life on “pause.” And just yesterday I sent an email to Laura saying I wish I had a pause button. This newsletter reminded me that I do. I have several.
Second, yesterday I was getting excited to see Daniel. Not my brother. My friend and former tai ji teacher. I was getting excited to see him in March at a qigong teacher training even though I don’t know if we’ll both be there. I was remembering when he visited me at my parents’ house on Mercer Island and how I’ve been encouraging him to come up here to visit Fidalgo Island. And then today on his Facebook status, I see that he is visiting an island. Well, not really an island. A mountain. A mountain that pretends to be an island when it’s cloudy. Island Mountain. That’s where Heartwood is. It’s not here. But still, the whole island thing and him traveling somewhere, well, I decided that this counts.
Third, I take a trip down memory lane by listening to a track on Blake Lewis’s album. I used to help out his drummer, Kevin Sawka with some promotional stuff when he was on my brother’s record label. So I’m thinking about Kevin, who I haven’t seen in months. And then I go to the library, and I have an invite in my inbox to one of his shows. Sure it wasn’t a personal invite; he sent it to everyone. But still, it counts.
Fourth, this morning thinking of Daniel got me thinking about my old Heartwood T.A. and friend Christina. Wondering if she’s back from Alaska. Back in this area. Wondering why I haven’t heard from her since emailing her. And then this afternoon I see that she replied today. This definitely counts.
And finally, this afternoon I was thinking about my old friend Anshu. She’s moved back from New York for the month. She got in on the 4th. I was thinking about how I hadn’t heard from her yet. She hadn’t even replied to my email a couple of weeks ago suggesting we get together this weekend when I’m in Seattle taking Kay to the airport. Then I go to the library to check my email. I make tentative plans and definite plans for after taking Kay to the airport. Then I return home to a message from Anshu. This definitely counts too.
Those first two examples were iffy, but after the ones that followed, I decided they counted. Obviously, or I wouldn’t have written about then.
So what’s next? Who’s next? Is it over? For now?
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
It happens often. I’ll be thinking about someone, and then they call. And/or I’ll be thinking about something, and then that something’s mentioned. It happens often. But today was off the charts. One after another.
First, I check my email in the morning and see a newsletter from Kert’s sister. With Kay visiting I’ve been thinking of him more than usual, and although his sister is not him, I’ve decided this counts. Mostly it counts though because of what the newsletter referred to. It referred to putting life on “pause.” And just yesterday I sent an email to Laura saying I wish I had a pause button. This newsletter reminded me that I do. I have several.
Second, yesterday I was getting excited to see Daniel. Not my brother. My friend and former tai ji teacher. I was getting excited to see him in March at a qigong teacher training even though I don’t know if we’ll both be there. I was remembering when he visited me at my parents’ house on Mercer Island and how I’ve been encouraging him to come up here to visit Fidalgo Island. And then today on his Facebook status, I see that he is visiting an island. Well, not really an island. A mountain. A mountain that pretends to be an island when it’s cloudy. Island Mountain. That’s where Heartwood is. It’s not here. But still, the whole island thing and him traveling somewhere, well, I decided that this counts.
Third, I take a trip down memory lane by listening to a track on Blake Lewis’s album. I used to help out his drummer, Kevin Sawka with some promotional stuff when he was on my brother’s record label. So I’m thinking about Kevin, who I haven’t seen in months. And then I go to the library, and I have an invite in my inbox to one of his shows. Sure it wasn’t a personal invite; he sent it to everyone. But still, it counts.
Fourth, this morning thinking of Daniel got me thinking about my old Heartwood T.A. and friend Christina. Wondering if she’s back from Alaska. Back in this area. Wondering why I haven’t heard from her since emailing her. And then this afternoon I see that she replied today. This definitely counts.
And finally, this afternoon I was thinking about my old friend Anshu. She’s moved back from New York for the month. She got in on the 4th. I was thinking about how I hadn’t heard from her yet. She hadn’t even replied to my email a couple of weeks ago suggesting we get together this weekend when I’m in Seattle taking Kay to the airport. Then I go to the library to check my email. I make tentative plans and definite plans for after taking Kay to the airport. Then I return home to a message from Anshu. This definitely counts too.
Those first two examples were iffy, but after the ones that followed, I decided they counted. Obviously, or I wouldn’t have written about then.
So what’s next? Who’s next? Is it over? For now?
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Monday, July 6, 2009
the body remembers
My body remembers all that’s happened to me. Anniversaries are felt deep within, in my bones, in my bowels, and in my skin. In my heart, I feel twinges of pain, echoes of ache, over physical and emotional injuries and over loves lost long ago. My mind is slow to recognize why. When melancholy strikes seemingly out of the blue, my mind doesn’t understand. But my body does. The body remembers what the mind fails to see. And it doesn’t take long for the mind to recognize that the body’s still grieving. Going through all the stages of grief. Year after year. Grieve, rejoice, repeat.
I wrote that the other day. And the synchronicity was eerie. It wasn't just I who was having bodily memories. I found out that same day that a client had returned to the hospital with some complications from a surgery that was a year ago.
The body remembers. How to help it forget? Or not to forget, but to let go, forgive, move on, and grow? Perhaps all that remembering, painful or not, conscious or not, is part of the process. No getting around it. No rushing it. No ignoring it. The only way out is through.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
I wrote that the other day. And the synchronicity was eerie. It wasn't just I who was having bodily memories. I found out that same day that a client had returned to the hospital with some complications from a surgery that was a year ago.
The body remembers. How to help it forget? Or not to forget, but to let go, forgive, move on, and grow? Perhaps all that remembering, painful or not, conscious or not, is part of the process. No getting around it. No rushing it. No ignoring it. The only way out is through.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
in a parallel universe
In a parallel universe, I arrived in Croatia today, excited for another Sheng Zhen Qigong teacher training. Excited to leave Hvar a couple of days early, to take a boat from Split to Ancona. A pilgrimage to one of Venus's temples. And then a train to Rome to one of Saturn's temples. And then a plane to Malta to visit my cousin. Taking photographs of myself, the happy woman I've become, to replace photographs of the unhappy teenager I was the last time I was in Malta.
In a parallel universe, I live on Mercer Island. I bought a house there instead of Guemes Island. Instead of Anacortes. I have a large mortgage, but I make more money, so it all evens out. More or less.
In a parallel universe, I finished law school, got a job at a law firm, and hate life.
In a parallel universe, I'm dead and gone.
But in this universe, I'm alive and well. Sometimes I feel a lightness, joy, gratitude over this. But sometimes I feel a heaviness, an extra burden, like I better figure out why I survived my accident, what my purpose is, and better make the most of this 2nd chance at life.
In this universe, I dropped out of law school, went to Heartwood, and started my own healing arts business.
In this universe, I'm living in Anacortes, in a super cute house. I don't worry about a mortgage. Feeling secure. More or less.
In this universe, I'm relieved to be back from California and just staying home, instead of traveling--
And yet there's a part of me that isn't settling in. There's a part of me that's sad, that's mourning some loss. A part of me that's restless and a little nervous about not having any trips planned until October. There's a part of me that's not here and doesn't want to be here. And although that part of me is much smaller, and less often present, than the part of me that is settling in and happy to be here, loving life and living it with arms wide open, that small part of me, when it does speak up, it does so loudly and threatens to take over.
In a parallel universe, this doesn't bother me. And in this universe, I'm learning to accept all these parts of myself, all these universes. And the more I do, the less bothered I am by any of it. The more I just observe. Just notice. The more present I am, the less I judge, and the less I even think about parallel universes.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
In a parallel universe, I live on Mercer Island. I bought a house there instead of Guemes Island. Instead of Anacortes. I have a large mortgage, but I make more money, so it all evens out. More or less.
In a parallel universe, I finished law school, got a job at a law firm, and hate life.
In a parallel universe, I'm dead and gone.
But in this universe, I'm alive and well. Sometimes I feel a lightness, joy, gratitude over this. But sometimes I feel a heaviness, an extra burden, like I better figure out why I survived my accident, what my purpose is, and better make the most of this 2nd chance at life.
In this universe, I dropped out of law school, went to Heartwood, and started my own healing arts business.
In this universe, I'm living in Anacortes, in a super cute house. I don't worry about a mortgage. Feeling secure. More or less.
In this universe, I'm relieved to be back from California and just staying home, instead of traveling--
And yet there's a part of me that isn't settling in. There's a part of me that's sad, that's mourning some loss. A part of me that's restless and a little nervous about not having any trips planned until October. There's a part of me that's not here and doesn't want to be here. And although that part of me is much smaller, and less often present, than the part of me that is settling in and happy to be here, loving life and living it with arms wide open, that small part of me, when it does speak up, it does so loudly and threatens to take over.
In a parallel universe, this doesn't bother me. And in this universe, I'm learning to accept all these parts of myself, all these universes. And the more I do, the less bothered I am by any of it. The more I just observe. Just notice. The more present I am, the less I judge, and the less I even think about parallel universes.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
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