“What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
I felt rushed out to sea for a few hours, scrambling against the pull, flailing arms grasping for something solid that ran like liquid through my fingers. I had a slight headache mixed with seriousness and panic. The me I know, the one I count on and is solid, exited the building. And without as much as a tip of the hat! In her place sat a knees-knocking, disheveled, and detached stranger.
What happened here, I wondered.
I’ve been teetering on the edge of an existential crisis. Until now, I couldn’t have articulated that, but there it is. It hasn’t been a problem, as the 5-lb weights anchoring me on this side of stable had been in place. But this morning’s two unexpected counseling sessions sparked a mini fire that set everything aflame.
I’ve said it feels like I’m in purgatory. But that the feeling is just a pea at the bottom of one hundred mattresses; I don’t acknowledge it. I did say it to a friend in passing, who minimized it: “Sure is a nice place to be in purgatory,” they responded to the picture that I showed them of the poolside quarters in which we’re temporarily living.
It is beautiful here; that’s not the problem. The problem is that I need my space, MY space, and it’s been nowhere to be found.
Until today, with freshly wired internet, I took a 6pm PST/9pm EST session on the bench window seat of my carpetless future bedroom. With my back against the wall, legs tucked into my belly, laptop set atop my knees, I felt the hardness of a still-to-be-cushioned board and swooned at the swallows flying limb to limb and the giant oak tree whose branches created a firework of activity. I felt peace. Then, in the garage, in a just-moved box, I found a soft and plush blue and white pillow from my previous bed and brought it in as a makeshift cushion.
Connecting with a client I have years of experience working with, I felt an even greater relaxation. It’s coming, I know. These spaces, just for me and me alone, that will soon fill my cup to overflowing. But in the not-yet time, the purgatory holds me captive. So, just as I often prescribe homework to clients, I, too, will get some.
I must go to the house and do things. I must be active there. I will pick up a stick and move it from the yard, cut back a limb, and mow. I will work around the workers and carve out spaces that are mine. That is what I must do.
Thanks for being here and allowing me to share. I hope to see you here tomorrow.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 