I've been putting in 16 to 18 hours a day most days for the past few weeks, and I've had a recurring thought about that: much of the world probably does this as a matter of course, and puts in these long hours in order to survive. How could I complain that it's taking me too much time to sort and pack my stuff, too much time to organize my legal, medical and financial affairs, too much time to prepare for my adventure?
I continue to wrestle with my stuff on all levels. At a wonderful improvisation workshop this weekend, our teacher spoke of an improvisation friend who'd said something along the lines of, "When I let go of my stuff, it has claw marks all over it." This was a reference to the emotional and other stuff the friend held onto while improvising, but it's all metaphor anyway. Among the things I've read while sorting through old journals and scraps of paper was a statement about liking the moving process, ~ "because I get to enjoy the things I have, I get to let go of the things I have, and I get to move into at least relatively unfamiliar territory." In that particular entry, written some time after my parents' deaths, I likened the experience of grieving to that of moving.
Improvisation, in addition to being just plain fun (even when it's also fantastically challenging), seems to me the best possible preparation for my journey -- perhaps for any journey, including life. I timed my departure, in part, so I could take this weekend workshop. David's focus on attuned honesty with self and others, full attention, and staying with what is, is exactly what I need. That he approaches the learning with experiences -- rich, emotional, relational, physical, elemental, spatial and, dare I say, spiritual experiences -- rather than exercises is a marvelous bonus.
My preparations have led me into deep territory, e.g., Advanced Care Directives, Durable Power of Attorney (yep: all the information), registering with the Stanford Willed Body Program. identifying recipients for my things -- and, most deep of deep, asking people to take these significant roles in my life. My friends and family have stepped up with immense generosity, and they offer themselves to me so fully that it quite takes my breath away. The help (the love!!!) comes in all forms, big and bigger, ranging from the concrete-physical to the spiritual-emotional. Perhaps those are the same thing. My gratitude is equaled only by astonishment at my good fortune to have these people in my life. Thank you.
Which leads me to think of something I'd heard once, about a situation in which someone stands on a crowded corner and yells out, "Guilty!" -- to which everyone within earshot responds by cringing, assuming they have been found out. Wouldn't it be great if one could stand on that street corner and yell out, "Thank you!," and know that everyone within earshot would feel recognized and smile? Again: thank you.
I've been given many nourishing images and words (as well as yoga positions and the reminder to drink water) to guide and sustain me. I've been practicing one such gift: "This. Here. Now." Me being who I am, I wonder what the "this" and "here" are in all their -- for me typical -- complexity. What is this particular "this," and where exactly is this "here"? The "now" is completely refreshing, handily simplifying and grounding "this" and "here" in the moment. "The moment" qualifies for me as "relatively unfamiliar territory." (big grin here)
In spite of my exhaustion, in spite of my ongoing questioning of my capacity to keep going, in spite of my terror that I won't get enough done before leaving (so very existential), in spite of my sadness to be saying good-bye to people I love, in spite of my turmoil and existential ponderings -- I feel a pervasive lightness and joy. I'm excited and I smile a lot. I don't get frustrated when things are not going well. One can only hope that my posts will be more palpably joyous once I actually leave the country, as well as have some images people might want to see.
Speaking of which: one friend, knowing that I felt overwhelmed on a particular day, put together the encouraging image that accompanies this post. Oh, the lightness and joy! The liberation of submersion. The buoyancy of jumping into the deep end.
Okay, I can hear the garbage trucks outside, so it's time to catch some Zs before turning back to the stuff.
meg 3-19-2013
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