Relief.
In its many forms.
I watched, listened, and smelled the first rain – hoping it’s enough to extinguish some of the fires.
Jomo had set up a daily backup of our website (oh, how he keeps loving me from afar) so when it went down last week my sister knowingly took the reins from my trembling hand and got the website back up.
Since last year, I’ve been working on something in the background and earlier last week, two people on our team led our meeting, allowing me to step back on a day when I really needed it. Distributed leadership is powerful. So is consensus.
This season continues to be about letting go of “shoulds” – which are, more often than not, attached to dominant ways of being – and trying to live as closely aligned to my humanity as possible.
Losing the most brilliant human I’ve ever met at just 50 years of age – has solidified for me that life is fleeting.
Friday, I mailed out a card to my Aunt and Uncle who lost their daughter this summer. My baby cousin was just 40 years old. It’s delayed. I haven’t known what to say. I still don’t.
Gone are the days of thinking I would live to see 70 or 80 or maybe even 90.
For me, there’s relief in saying that.
Letting go of striving, obsessive planning, perfecting, pulling, driving…
Allows a deeper kind of breathing.
I’m breathing.
And for the first time in a few days, my lungs touch the outside edges of my rib cage, musculature, and flesh.
They expand until they cannot expand further.
I’m always ready for this first rain.
Windows open and snuggled under the wool comforter that Jomo’s sister gifted us many moons ago.
We imagined new possibilities beneath it’s fluff.
Dared to live connected.
Human.
Fully loved.
In the moment.
I’m reminded of the first fall we were married.
We had read an article by a woman who interviewed her grandfather about living in the depression era. She asked him for wisdom. I expected him to answer her with a message of frugality as I often remember my own grandparents sharing.
He didn’t.
He told her that everyone is working too much.
He shared that before electricity, the work day ended when the sun went down.
Families came together by the light of candles and oil lamps.
Ate, sang, read, played, stitched, loved………rested.
That first fall, Jomo and I lived more aligned with the sun.
Refused the use of electricity, except to work during the day and to run the furnace at night.
Dinner was prepared by 4pm and we ate by the flicker of the flame.
We laughed. Shared stories. Nested.
And built a legacy of connection.
Slowing down.
Saying what was on our minds.
And bubbling up from our hearts.
Finding our own humanity.
Basking in the humanity of each other.
Are you working too much?
Have you attached your worth to what you can produce?
Oh love, if that’s you – do not let shame weigh you down. You did the best you could. It’s not your fault.
Rest.
Rest.
Rest.
And once you do, you’ll be able to welcome relief when she shows up at the door of your heart.
You’ll know that you are fully loved at this very moment.
You’ll let old hurts rise up because you trust yourself to keep healing them.
And your healing will heal the world.
All you have to do is be willing.
