“Where do I stand?” A question I have asked myself many times over the course of my life. Sometimes, like now, it feels like the tectonic plates beneath my feet are shifting more quickly than I am used to adjusting to. Maybe they have always been moving this way, only now I am paying closer attention, more aware of them with the passage of time…
The “unknowns” are always greater than the “knowns,” and especially in the current [political, social, global] climate, the melding of these two opposites is overwhelming, and I am worried for the collective future. The past eight years have been stressful; to dissociate from the causes of that stress seems irresponsible, privileged. And yet, there is a case for self-preservation in it. It feels like the only option is to “step into the inner refuge that shelters and comforts us,” otherwise I might go insane, or become numb. For empathic feelers, these options can be difficult to sift between.
“Begin where we are.”
On this shaky ground. It probably can’t shake forever, right? Swampy or shaky, this ground is for re-evaluating the world, my life, my relationships; how I have viewed others and how I have viewed myself. Unsteady ground is for mental inventories. Do I stay still and solid in my body and self as the plates move beneath me? Or do I dance with them, hop between one plate and another? Probably some combination of both.
My car wouldn’t start before work this morning. It was an easy call to make, to call out of work- I am tired, and I do not love this particular job anyway. This quick shift in my day allowed me time to sit in the quiet of my messy house, light a fire and a candle, and write this reflection as the sun began to pour in the front windows. Interesting how the universe forced me to literally walk back inside through my own front door, without the option to leave even if I wanted to (for anything other than a short walk down the street, which I may do after this). For now, I can take comfort in my own home, a refuge I am lucky to have.
Ellen, the universe never ceases to amaze me. What a welcomed gift, your car not starting. It sounds like you’ve already begun to embrace the day that has been given to you. From one empathic person to another, yes that sifting can be difficult. I’m in the process of my own sifting at the moment, as I will be talking about in my reflection. Sending you blessings and good thoughts for the process you seem to be deep within. Constance
Your thoughtful and honest reflection touched me deeply, maybe because I, too, feel deeply affected and unsettled by the reality of “the tectonic plates shifting beneath my feet” yet again.
Has the ground beneath my feet ever been that solid? I wonder. Or did I lull myself into the illusion of safety? Something tells me that I’ve always been dancing and balancing on shaky ground, only I hoped that I would be able to rest my weary legs as I grew older; yet another illusion.
For now, I feel it is imperative to seek shelter in the inner refuge and regain my strength and balance.
It would be folly and irresponsible to spend all my energy yelling at the “storm.” I need to expand my resources and understanding of the storm at my own pace.
I love how your day made the decision for you and gifted you what you needed the most: rest, solitude, and the opportunity to nest and exhale in your safe place in front of the fire. You answered the call, surrounded yourself with light and warmth, and then the words came.
I love how your day shifted abruptly, which gifted you the day you needed. Continue to bask in the comfort of your home and take good care of yourself, Ellen.
Ellen your response is so poetic! The “tectonic plates” created such a powerful image and really resonated with me. Forever shifting, sometimes too powerfully to create reverberations and movement we’re not prepared for. Sometimes these plates are still and allow for us to stand on solid ground, but man when they move, they really move, creating more unknowns than knowns.
Like you, I believe that something greater than us sometimes directs us, as much as I paradoxically think that we are the choreographers of our lives. For example, had I not been laid off a few months ago, I am wholly convinced that I would have weakened my health from absurdly long, sedentary hours at my desk and even worsened my eye issues.
The thing is, I saw the train crash up ahead (i.e., pushing my luck with my autoimmune), and I didn’t listen to my body, choosing to keep pushing myself until I got into a state of inertia that kept me mechanically moving each day. I feel fortunate to have had a different kind of collision (job layoff) to hit my restart – I’d say similar to you enjoying the sunshine and sacred, cozy solitude and comfort your body and mind craved when your car wouldn’t start on Tuesday. (I hope all is okay with it now!)
As I read the prompt, I was trying to formulate the response it triggered. Ellen, your post said it perfectly “…now, it feels like the tectonic plates beneath my feet are shifting more quickly than I am used to adjusting to. Maybe they have always been moving this way, only now I am paying closer attention…” And yes, ‘irresponsibility and privilege’ and self-preservation are Two Truths that can and must happen at the same time (I think).
The dualities of all of the “both/and’s” of life are constant. I like what you say about Two Truths. There are often so many Truths trying to be seen all at once in any situation.
Doors. In my former life doors were something physical. If I stood inside a space behind a door it likely offered refuge ~~ or a place to hide. When I stood outside of a space, the door represented what was yet to come ~~ a greeting/celebration or perhaps chaos or discomfort within the space.
Later doors meant something different ~~ a project. We were in the business of weatherstripping and building custom doors. Their size, material, construction, and future use were a source of creativity, a product of which to be proud, and a source of income.
In both timelines, I saw doors as a solid thing. Now I understand they are symbolic of openings and portals of life. Yet those portals are still finite, like their physical door-cousins, UNTIL and UNLESS I choose to engage or disengage them. “Doors” offer me choices; what lies behind or beyond them are only the obstacles or wins I let them be. The only locked doors – barriers, if you will – are my own expectations and judgements.
Both physically (behind a door) and emotionally (in a life choice) then ‘Where We Stand’ IS within our control if we choose to take control and walk through that doorway, or not?
I can’t think of any time we are not standing behind or in front of a door. At home, we are surrounded by doors, and as we walk our lives paths, doorways appear and disappear constantly. Sometimes, we notice, and sometimes, we don’t.
I guess we are always at choice. Sometimes, the choice may be no, I won’t walk through that door, or yes, I am not sure I know what I am doing, but I’ll go through it anyway. Sometimes, we like where the door takes us, and other times, we may not be quite thrilled, but still, we need to manage as best we can until the exit appears. Of course, there are also times when we must linger in the in-between space until we are ready to go through the door.
These last couple of years alone, you have danced your way in and out of doors. Some doors you shut behind you, then you lingered until another, and then another door opened for you to cross.
Kim- What a beautiful framing of the power of doors! Choosing where we stand, whether we enter or exit, and what we take control of or not—a physical representation of a way of being.
I simply LOVE your framing of the door as a portal. It’s not a new idea to me but something about reading it in your reflection moved me differently. Thank you for sharing. Good luck to you in your choosing to open or to close.
Kim
The metaphorical & symbolic door seems so present in your life! I would echo Constance’s comment about portals… the word seems to hold a more powerful connotation than “doors,” yet they are so similar. “The only locked doors – barriers, if you will – are my own expectations and judgements.” – I have felt similarly that my own pre-judgements of what is on the other side of doors/decisions is already set in stone. But in reality, no matter how hard I try to plan or expect certain outcomes, I cannot predict what lies ahead beyond the doors/decisions of life. It’s a hard reality to accept sometimes (for me!)
Kim, I love the symbolism here! The visual of doors being portals and of offering us choices- the power being in our own hands. I had always thought of doors having predetermined things behind them and the choosing of the door itself was the choice to be made. This perspective offers so much more control! Choose your door and then keep making choices once inside.
Doors for me have always represented possibility, and I’m in the process of walking towards a door I’ve been approaching for the entirety of this year. The door I just walked through is the door that leads to my family of origin where trauma and dysfunction have warped our relationships with each other. I am sifting the toxins out of my system these relationships have burdened me with. I have yet to fully shut that door out of fear that I will lose them completely, but as I wabble down the path to the next door shedding the toxins and feeling disoriented (these warped relationships have tangled their limbs throughout my entire system and I’m having to encounter a new me in their absence), I already know what is on the other side of the door in front of me. It is my husband and daughter and the foundation I have created with and for them.
On my journey towards that door, I’m finding comfort in knowing that once my system has been purged, I will be free. I learned years ago how to keep new invaders out of my system. My body, my vessel, is my sanctuary and my haven, and once on the other side of the door in front of me, I will discover who I am free of a history that has burdened and disrupted the whole of me. It is a journey I began in January. I turned the year over to this process. I’m so honored and happy to be concluding that journey in this retreat with the support of all of you!
Constance- The inner strength it must take to travel and build as you have and continue to shine forth. I was moved by what you shared last night and reading what you wrote today. What comes to mind is Herculean effort. There’s no going back now that you are where you are- grounded, aware, and a solidly built foundation with your husband and daughter.
You have been so brave. The journey has been long and painful, but it has made you who you are today: strong, insightful, resilient, and inspiring. It takes time to go around the sun and land where you were always meant to be.
In the process, you have created your own loving family and touched the lives of many: your students, their families, and the readers of your books. And you’re not done yet.
I have no doubt that you will cross the door opening for you. Your history cannot be erased; it has become the foundation of your “herculean effort,” as Linda put it. You can own it and still make the healthy and wise choices that support your well-being and the well-being of your husband and daughter—your refuge!
Doubt can be paralyzing, but it can also be valuable. It is in those periods of doubt, of shaky ground, that pausing becomes possible. The question becomes, how long do I pause? If I stay there too long, it becomes challenging to move through that door toward uncertainty. Staying and waiting too long erodes my confidence. It can prevent me from trusting my ability to navigate the challenges or access my reserves of resilience and creativity.
It’s uncomfortable not knowing, yet it’s a reality. I don’t know everything, and I never will. That doesn’t scare or deter me.
I said yes to something uncomfortable. I’ll feel better when I get clarifying information. It’s uncertain how it will turn out, but I can accept the not knowing. Things will be revealed in time.
Linda, yes things are always revealed in time. Sadly, not always when one would like them to be. I love how you are embracing ambivalence, and, as it sounds, allowing yourself to go with the flow. Good luck with your writing project, and good luck with intuiting the length of pause whenever you are in a liminal space.
Doubt is a challenge we all work against at times. Yes, it can be paralyzing, but, as you said, it can also serve as a compass.
Pausing is necessary; there is no way to know how long this “fertile” pause will last. It’s personal, but there are always signs. We may move forward prematurely, and the door will not open to the room we were hoping for. So, back through the door we go. When the time is right, nothing can stop us. There may be uncertainty and hard work ahead, but we are ready to meet the moment. You will know. You are comfortable with not knowing, and that is half the battle.
Good luck with the project. It sounds exciting and a great opportunity.
Another wonderful dichotomy of multiple truths at once- the value and paralysis of doubtful pause. Saying “yes” to something new and uncomfortable or unexpected is so disorienting. I’m sure you will learn from the whole experience and be all the better for it!
I love your question of “How long do I pause?”
I have always been very cautious about leaping into relationships or projects.
Even ridiculously small projects- making a phone call or an appt can get paused to the point of no return. I have been trying to teach myself to just start-just do it rather than analyze it to death. I so appreciate your jumping in to the writing project without knowing all the parameters.
Now I often try to think – so what’s the worst case scenario if it doesn’t work. It usually isn’t that bad.
I’m so moved as I read everyone’s posts. It feels like a great surge of collective energy on the move! This is a bit shocking to me because I tend to stand somewhat outside, an over analyzer, layers of protection. But I feel the energy of each of you, rising up and going forth to dance on the shifting tectonic plates as Ellen so beautifully put, and pushing through that door, Constance, unsteady but unbowed. And Linda, I too feel that fear of waiting too long, of missing the opportunity for growth. This is my life’s work–to learn whatever lessons I’ve been given in this crazy play of consciousness. Kim, I’m pondering what it would feel like to open a door without expectations–with only curiosity. Such freedom! Yota, it seems to me we’re all getting braver, maybe not feeling so alone, but supported as we make these choices every day to go into the unknown. Thank you for creating this space.
Thank you for summarizing and sharing what everyone’s reflections meant to you. I love this image of a “great surge of collective energy on the move.”
Trust is hard to come by—trusting the ground we walk on, the doors that keep showing up, trusting ourselves, our instincts and decisions, trusting others, trusting the unknown, or even trusting the known. Yet, through the doors we go, time and again, hopefully becoming a bit freer, wiser, and more accepting of ourselves along the way.
Kathleen! I celebrate you! You are so full of life, or at least that has been my experience of you in the short time I have been in this group. I’m not Jewish, but I’m reminded of the phrase “May your memory be a blessing.” You are someone blessed with vivid, rich memories and I do so hope for you, and all the people who would be blessed by your words and worlds, that you do write that autobiographical novel as a way to celebrate your life for you, share your life with others, and remind us of how wonderful this life can be. While doing so, the scarier things might become less scary. That being said, medical issues are never fun, and I’m wishing you all the best in that area.
I posted my Kathleen’s in the wrong order, I think. This one is for K. Ellis. What you wrote is just one great big paragraph of loveliness, and I thank you so much for it.
The ground feels a little shaky these days. For the first time in my existence I really have to cope with the fact that my body just won’t function to the level I want it to. The questions of medical interventions loom large. I am not a person that gravitates towards Doctor visits. These doors are not ones I walk through easily.
At the same time I am questioning my capacity to live in two places. Both have their charm and advantages but owning two homes requires a lot of organization and care that I find becoming a bit overwhelming. I love walking through the doors of both homes so this is a bit of a dilemma.
The door that is hardest for me to even approach is the finality of life. I avoid even the simple task of making a will. I know logically that I need to have all my ducks in order but I still totally back away from that door.
I appreciate your vulnerability in naming your avoidance of approaching the finality of life. It is no easy feat, especially for someone like you who seems to have lived such a full and beautiful life that is not even close to over yet. I find that people are often very scared to bring up the topic, because of course, no one LIKES to think about “losing” the people they love or leaving the people they love. Avoidance seems natural, almost- but death is more truly natural. It is the ultimate “What you resist, persists.”
My mom recently took the step of will-writing, mostly spurred on by the passing of her own father at the age of 98 last year. Unfortunately, the weight of his caregiving and the sifting through of 65+ years of accumulated “stuff and things” was left to my mom over the last few years, inadvertently, and his will left some frustrations unaddressed. This experience nudged her to get ahead to protect her future and the future of her children, to ease the process for us after she passes (which is hopefully a long way off). And now, she won’t have to think about it anymore, which I imagine would be a relief.
Writing your will does not have to be a scary or negative task. Maybe, it can be more of a celebratory ritual, to acknowledge the legacy you have built through your experiences, your memories, your delicious stories of your childhood, and all of the people you have impacted through your years teaching and working with libraries (if my memory is correct, I apologize if I am mis-remembering!). It can be like a preparatory practice run for that autobiographical novel you’re going to write 😉
Thank you Ellen for this beautiful note and telling your Mom’s story. I love the idea of making it more of a celebration and already my mind is spinning to find significant bits of me to leave notes on for people I love rather than making it all about the financial value.
I was the person responsible for taking care of both my parents deaths. I think what I remember most was how hard it was for my Mom when we decided as a group of siblings that we needed to help her get rid of “stuff” in our home. She was really pretty self sufficient, but almost 92, at the time of our “let’s help her out“venture. The look in her eyes as we trudged stuff out of the basement was painful and at one point she uttered “It’s as if you’ve buried me already.” It really didn’t matter much what we said after that.
I think part of my hesitation is just that. I don’t want to feel like it’s over. I certainly know it will help everyone else out to have taken care of legal options. I have always been a person who thought of myself as eternal. Rather presumptuous.
This December I turn 75 and for the first time it has dawned on me that I may not have more than 20 or 25 more years. That seems incredibly short and the need to make it meaningful can be daunting.
I have to echo Ellen’s admiration for showing up vulnerable yet unafraid in naming what makes the ground feel shaky under your feet these days. How you feel is expected, given the circumstances. Naming it is a significant first step to cracking that door open.
My experience with avoidance and denial—natural as they may be at one point or another—is that they tend to make a situation look scarier and more complicated than it may be. Greece and everything I’ve had and still have to deal with have taught me some hard lessons in acceptance, faith, and self-preservation.
What we fear and avoid becomes bigger and more impossible to deal with. Taking small, manageable steps and celebrating progress as we go provides the much-needed relief we need.
I love Ellen’s take on writing your will, including the nod to writing your autobiographical novel. None of us knows how long we have ahead, but we are here now. We have a choice whether we let anxiety and fear live rent-free in our heads or use the time we have to solve the problems we can solve, engage with what delights us, love the people we are with, and make room for moments of joy and ease.
That door you are afraid to open? It may surprise you in ways you cannot anticipate.
My heart is with you as you navigate this chapter of your life. I’m inspired by how you’re framing the various doors you’re encountering—both literally and figuratively.
I don’t know if you’re a Netflix watcher, but I just finished a poignant series with Ted Danson, “Man on the Inside.” The setting spoke to life after retirement and the later stage of life—with all of its joys and challenges. While it isn’t your story, you might find something that speaks to you. Word of warning: I cried my way through some of it.
I understand the challenge of facing things we’d rather not—failing body parts, doctor appointments, legal documents. I suppose those are the doors we’d prefer to leave closed. But there they are. I’m sending you hugs, love, and the strength to walk through them anyway.
Thanks for reminding me of that show. I saw one add and it intrigued me. I’m up for a good cry so that won’t stop me.
I have a colleague who just moved into an Assisted Living facility. I think we need to find the humor in it as well as the pathos.
Dear Kathy, I’m in this with you. We’re the Kathleen twins, and I’m right there with you on all the betrayals that are happening: body, mind, energy levels, you name it. I think the only thing that’s better for me is that I’ve finally developed a sense of humor! It might be a little late and be more like gallows humor, but as they say, better late than . . . But know that any time you want help kicking a door open or shutting one, I’m there. My kickboxing isn’t what it was, but it’s more like the idea of it might work. Age might be giving us super powers we don’t know about yet! And Constance is so right about how full of life you are, and you give that gift to so many people all the time. I’m glad you’re reaching out to let us know what’s happening so we can support you.
Twins separated at birth- definitely! I cherish that unique and special bond we share. Fortunately I grew up and still have a family that deals with everything through humor. It’s our go to when things get rough.
I am counting on both you and Zelda to keep me buoyant as we navigate the ever changing waters of aging!
Solid ground would be a welcomed gift at this point. It feels like I’ve been surviving on shaky ground for as long as I can remember- caught between where I am and where I want to be. A tumultuous family dynamic made for shaky ground as a teenager, followed by the wild ride of college, and then set free into the “real” world to figure it all out for myself.
Once I graduated from college, it seemed like I was a vagabond looking for my place in the world, looking for somewhere to settle, some solid ground to stand on. Tyler and I have changed addresses 9 times since then. In the last 3 years alone we called 5 different residences “home.” And in that time, we added two new members to our family. So, at times, it didn’t even feel like there was any ground beneath my feet, let alone it being shaky.
When we settled in Albany and both got stable jobs, it felt like we had finally found some solid ground. We could settle into a routine and raise our daughter and begin to thrive instead of just survive. But then I started having panic attacks. And the familiar feeling of the ground disappearing returned. Tyler put the team on his back and with his support, the help of my therapist, and the love of my village, I was able to manage my panic and be there for myself and my family. And then I found out I was pregnant again.
This time, not only did it feel like the ground wasn’t even there, but that it swallowed me whole. I wasn’t ready to do this all over again. I had just started to find myself again and here I would be losing myself all over again. I took the time to process this new addition to our family and slowly but surely I found my way out of the ground. It was fragmented ground, with big sinkholes, but ground nonetheless.
Now that Amir is here and I’m 5 weeks postpartum, I can say I’ve now made it to shaky ground once again. It might be the closest to solid ground I’ve ever been, but time will tell. For now, I’m just grateful to have landed on any ground at all. In a few months, as I continue to find my footing on this shaky ground as a mom of 2, I will start to ask those unanswered questions: Who am I? What do I want? Where do I want to end up? And as those answers come, it will bring me closer to my next door, which will hopefully lead to some solid ground.
Sarah, after being in the group with you for quite a while now, and reading about your journey to find solid ground, a home where you can feel safe and rooted, I keep thinking of how you pursue life with such commitment and passion, and with such a generosity of spirit. As Kathy said, your love shines through every photo. The postpartum specialist at Mt. Sinai hospital once told me it takes 6 months for the hormones to go back to normal, so please give yourself the same compassion and kindness you give to everyone else. And hugs from the Aunties!
You never cease to amaze me. You are a kind, loving, strong, resilient, and amazing woman.
Not everyone dealing with all you have had to deal with ends up where you are—being who you are. You wrote about thriving instead of surviving, but from where I stand, you have been doing both. I know it hasn’t felt this way, but why can’t both be true simultaneously? Some people have to learn how to survive in order to thrive. Survival becomes the foundation of growth; you are a beautiful example of that.
You and Tyler chose well, and the two of you have been meticulously building your beautiful life together. You have surrounded yourselves with a village and supported each other through storms, earthquakes, and constant change. And here you are, loving parents and partners, raising your kiddos in the most loving way while building your place in the world.
I know what it means to navigate a “tumultuous family dynamic” from a very early age. It never changed; it never stopped. The “real” world hasn’t been all that fantastic either … feeling like a “vagabond,” allowing people in my life who would enforce that feeling, finding and losing myself, my place, my compass over and over again, balancing on thin ice and shifting plates, a new country, a new family, a new culture, changing directions, having dreams and giving them up, but never stop dreaming. Every time I thought I arrived on solid ground and maybe I could work on figuring things out, the ground shifted … again.
For some people, it is like that: the ground never seems to settle, and the weather keeps changing. Still, when I look at people like you, I know there is hope and goodness. You are way ahead of the game and where I was at your age. That’s one of the reasons Neal and I waited 12 years before we had the girls. It was essential to do the work and still, we were not prepared. Raising children upends our lives and changes us from the inside out.
Postpartum is a bitch. I won’t apologize for the word Take good care of yourself and let people care for you, too.
As far as figuring out who you are, what you want, and where you want to end up … you got this. You know who you are now, what you want today, and where you have ended up … right where you need to be … for now.
These questions will never be answered fully. Curious, creative, and open people will never settle for an answer. They will keep asking these questions because, instinctively, they know there is always more, and change, internal and otherwise, is the only constant.
We love you! Consider yourself hugged today and everyday!
I am overcome with emotion (in a good way) by your responses here. Being part of this wonderful group of women, I can always feel your love and support even when we’re not together. However, reading it definitely hits different.
I can’t adequately express how much your words mean to me, so for now I will just say thank you and I am so grateful for you.
Yota, your thoughtfulness is evident in every word you write and those words always touch my heart. I cannot begin to thank you for being such a pillar of love and light in my life and for connecting me with this group of wonderful women. I am eternally grateful.
Hi Sarah,
I wanted to tell you how much joy I see in the pictures you have posted on Facebook of you and your beautiful family. The pure love you have for your little clan jumps right out of the photos. It makes my heart feel good every time.
My friend that I live with has panic attacks. I understand how frightening they are and how hard it can be to work out of them. I’m so glad you have a support team.
I can’t imagine moving that many times. I am a houseplant when it comes to homes. I stay there as long as I can. It seems as if your spot in Albany feels like a place you can really root. I hope so. Are you buried in snow now?
I think being a Mom to those two beautiful beings is about as challenging on the one hand as it gets and also as rewarding as it could be. Shaky at times but then there are those smiles and cuddles to ground you. Keep up the good work. I love seeing someone throw their heart into being a good parent.
Apologies for my delayed response to this first prompt; this is my first year participating, and I was confused about the units.
I first read this quote in a 1985 biography of Jim Morrison, the singer of The Doors, when I was 17. This quote inspired the name of the band. I smile now, remembering that these were mere ‘words’ to me at the time – decades later, they mean many things to me all at once.
The other thing that comes to mind now is a 1998 film called Sliding Doors. It shows the protagonist (Gwyneth Paltrow) arriving home early from work to find her male partner cheating on her and proceeds through the film to show a dichotomy fate, an alternate storyline that would have occurred had she missed the subway doors and arrived home later – ultimately never meeting and falling in love with a man more deserving of her. Blake’s quote reminds me of this movie and my forever fascination with “lives never lived.”
These could be the choices we make or the fate we are given. In the latter, for example, I have always marveled (and felt guilt) knowing how fortunate, blessed, life-lottery-lucky I am, along with others, to be born into a loving family in a first-world country with opportunities, resources, etc. I am almost embarrassed to share that I feel guilty if I stay in the soothing shower longer than needed, always thinking about those who don’t have such luxury. Have you ever considered the contributions that our world will never see from people who don’t have the means of education or had a supportive upbringing? Such a formidable disparity exists, perhaps to keep us awake at our wheels.
Sometimes, sorrow can be a good thing because it makes us more present in our own lives.
40 Comments
Ellen Hanley
“Where do I stand?” A question I have asked myself many times over the course of my life. Sometimes, like now, it feels like the tectonic plates beneath my feet are shifting more quickly than I am used to adjusting to. Maybe they have always been moving this way, only now I am paying closer attention, more aware of them with the passage of time…
The “unknowns” are always greater than the “knowns,” and especially in the current [political, social, global] climate, the melding of these two opposites is overwhelming, and I am worried for the collective future. The past eight years have been stressful; to dissociate from the causes of that stress seems irresponsible, privileged. And yet, there is a case for self-preservation in it. It feels like the only option is to “step into the inner refuge that shelters and comforts us,” otherwise I might go insane, or become numb. For empathic feelers, these options can be difficult to sift between.
“Begin where we are.”
On this shaky ground. It probably can’t shake forever, right? Swampy or shaky, this ground is for re-evaluating the world, my life, my relationships; how I have viewed others and how I have viewed myself. Unsteady ground is for mental inventories. Do I stay still and solid in my body and self as the plates move beneath me? Or do I dance with them, hop between one plate and another? Probably some combination of both.
My car wouldn’t start before work this morning. It was an easy call to make, to call out of work- I am tired, and I do not love this particular job anyway. This quick shift in my day allowed me time to sit in the quiet of my messy house, light a fire and a candle, and write this reflection as the sun began to pour in the front windows. Interesting how the universe forced me to literally walk back inside through my own front door, without the option to leave even if I wanted to (for anything other than a short walk down the street, which I may do after this). For now, I can take comfort in my own home, a refuge I am lucky to have.
Constance Malloy
Ellen, the universe never ceases to amaze me. What a welcomed gift, your car not starting. It sounds like you’ve already begun to embrace the day that has been given to you. From one empathic person to another, yes that sifting can be difficult. I’m in the process of my own sifting at the moment, as I will be talking about in my reflection. Sending you blessings and good thoughts for the process you seem to be deep within. Constance
Yota Schneider
Dear Ellen,
Your thoughtful and honest reflection touched me deeply, maybe because I, too, feel deeply affected and unsettled by the reality of “the tectonic plates shifting beneath my feet” yet again.
Has the ground beneath my feet ever been that solid? I wonder. Or did I lull myself into the illusion of safety? Something tells me that I’ve always been dancing and balancing on shaky ground, only I hoped that I would be able to rest my weary legs as I grew older; yet another illusion.
For now, I feel it is imperative to seek shelter in the inner refuge and regain my strength and balance.
It would be folly and irresponsible to spend all my energy yelling at the “storm.” I need to expand my resources and understanding of the storm at my own pace.
I love how your day made the decision for you and gifted you what you needed the most: rest, solitude, and the opportunity to nest and exhale in your safe place in front of the fire. You answered the call, surrounded yourself with light and warmth, and then the words came.
Thank you for sharing them with us.
Linda Samuels
I love how your day shifted abruptly, which gifted you the day you needed. Continue to bask in the comfort of your home and take good care of yourself, Ellen.
Sarah Lipscomb
Ellen your response is so poetic! The “tectonic plates” created such a powerful image and really resonated with me. Forever shifting, sometimes too powerfully to create reverberations and movement we’re not prepared for. Sometimes these plates are still and allow for us to stand on solid ground, but man when they move, they really move, creating more unknowns than knowns.
Rosa Conti
Dear Ellen –
Like you, I believe that something greater than us sometimes directs us, as much as I paradoxically think that we are the choreographers of our lives. For example, had I not been laid off a few months ago, I am wholly convinced that I would have weakened my health from absurdly long, sedentary hours at my desk and even worsened my eye issues.
The thing is, I saw the train crash up ahead (i.e., pushing my luck with my autoimmune), and I didn’t listen to my body, choosing to keep pushing myself until I got into a state of inertia that kept me mechanically moving each day. I feel fortunate to have had a different kind of collision (job layoff) to hit my restart – I’d say similar to you enjoying the sunshine and sacred, cozy solitude and comfort your body and mind craved when your car wouldn’t start on Tuesday. (I hope all is okay with it now!)
Kim Cartwright
As I read the prompt, I was trying to formulate the response it triggered. Ellen, your post said it perfectly “…now, it feels like the tectonic plates beneath my feet are shifting more quickly than I am used to adjusting to. Maybe they have always been moving this way, only now I am paying closer attention…” And yes, ‘irresponsibility and privilege’ and self-preservation are Two Truths that can and must happen at the same time (I think).
Ellen Hanley
The dualities of all of the “both/and’s” of life are constant. I like what you say about Two Truths. There are often so many Truths trying to be seen all at once in any situation.
Kim Cartwright
Doors. In my former life doors were something physical. If I stood inside a space behind a door it likely offered refuge ~~ or a place to hide. When I stood outside of a space, the door represented what was yet to come ~~ a greeting/celebration or perhaps chaos or discomfort within the space.
Later doors meant something different ~~ a project. We were in the business of weatherstripping and building custom doors. Their size, material, construction, and future use were a source of creativity, a product of which to be proud, and a source of income.
In both timelines, I saw doors as a solid thing. Now I understand they are symbolic of openings and portals of life. Yet those portals are still finite, like their physical door-cousins, UNTIL and UNLESS I choose to engage or disengage them. “Doors” offer me choices; what lies behind or beyond them are only the obstacles or wins I let them be. The only locked doors – barriers, if you will – are my own expectations and judgements.
Both physically (behind a door) and emotionally (in a life choice) then ‘Where We Stand’ IS within our control if we choose to take control and walk through that doorway, or not?
Yota Schneider
I love that, Kim!
I can’t think of any time we are not standing behind or in front of a door. At home, we are surrounded by doors, and as we walk our lives paths, doorways appear and disappear constantly. Sometimes, we notice, and sometimes, we don’t.
I guess we are always at choice. Sometimes, the choice may be no, I won’t walk through that door, or yes, I am not sure I know what I am doing, but I’ll go through it anyway. Sometimes, we like where the door takes us, and other times, we may not be quite thrilled, but still, we need to manage as best we can until the exit appears. Of course, there are also times when we must linger in the in-between space until we are ready to go through the door.
These last couple of years alone, you have danced your way in and out of doors. Some doors you shut behind you, then you lingered until another, and then another door opened for you to cross.
Linda Samuels
Kim- What a beautiful framing of the power of doors! Choosing where we stand, whether we enter or exit, and what we take control of or not—a physical representation of a way of being.
Constance Malloy
I simply LOVE your framing of the door as a portal. It’s not a new idea to me but something about reading it in your reflection moved me differently. Thank you for sharing. Good luck to you in your choosing to open or to close.
Ellen Hanley
Kim
The metaphorical & symbolic door seems so present in your life! I would echo Constance’s comment about portals… the word seems to hold a more powerful connotation than “doors,” yet they are so similar. “The only locked doors – barriers, if you will – are my own expectations and judgements.” – I have felt similarly that my own pre-judgements of what is on the other side of doors/decisions is already set in stone. But in reality, no matter how hard I try to plan or expect certain outcomes, I cannot predict what lies ahead beyond the doors/decisions of life. It’s a hard reality to accept sometimes (for me!)
Sarah Lipscomb
Kim, I love the symbolism here! The visual of doors being portals and of offering us choices- the power being in our own hands. I had always thought of doors having predetermined things behind them and the choosing of the door itself was the choice to be made. This perspective offers so much more control! Choose your door and then keep making choices once inside.
Constance Malloy
Doors for me have always represented possibility, and I’m in the process of walking towards a door I’ve been approaching for the entirety of this year. The door I just walked through is the door that leads to my family of origin where trauma and dysfunction have warped our relationships with each other. I am sifting the toxins out of my system these relationships have burdened me with. I have yet to fully shut that door out of fear that I will lose them completely, but as I wabble down the path to the next door shedding the toxins and feeling disoriented (these warped relationships have tangled their limbs throughout my entire system and I’m having to encounter a new me in their absence), I already know what is on the other side of the door in front of me. It is my husband and daughter and the foundation I have created with and for them.
On my journey towards that door, I’m finding comfort in knowing that once my system has been purged, I will be free. I learned years ago how to keep new invaders out of my system. My body, my vessel, is my sanctuary and my haven, and once on the other side of the door in front of me, I will discover who I am free of a history that has burdened and disrupted the whole of me. It is a journey I began in January. I turned the year over to this process. I’m so honored and happy to be concluding that journey in this retreat with the support of all of you!
Linda Samuels
Constance- The inner strength it must take to travel and build as you have and continue to shine forth. I was moved by what you shared last night and reading what you wrote today. What comes to mind is Herculean effort. There’s no going back now that you are where you are- grounded, aware, and a solidly built foundation with your husband and daughter.
Yota Schneider
Dear Constance,
You have been so brave. The journey has been long and painful, but it has made you who you are today: strong, insightful, resilient, and inspiring. It takes time to go around the sun and land where you were always meant to be.
In the process, you have created your own loving family and touched the lives of many: your students, their families, and the readers of your books. And you’re not done yet.
I have no doubt that you will cross the door opening for you. Your history cannot be erased; it has become the foundation of your “herculean effort,” as Linda put it. You can own it and still make the healthy and wise choices that support your well-being and the well-being of your husband and daughter—your refuge!
Linda Samuels
Doubt can be paralyzing, but it can also be valuable. It is in those periods of doubt, of shaky ground, that pausing becomes possible. The question becomes, how long do I pause? If I stay there too long, it becomes challenging to move through that door toward uncertainty. Staying and waiting too long erodes my confidence. It can prevent me from trusting my ability to navigate the challenges or access my reserves of resilience and creativity.
It’s uncomfortable not knowing, yet it’s a reality. I don’t know everything, and I never will. That doesn’t scare or deter me.
I said yes to something uncomfortable. I’ll feel better when I get clarifying information. It’s uncertain how it will turn out, but I can accept the not knowing. Things will be revealed in time.
Constance Malloy
Linda, yes things are always revealed in time. Sadly, not always when one would like them to be. I love how you are embracing ambivalence, and, as it sounds, allowing yourself to go with the flow. Good luck with your writing project, and good luck with intuiting the length of pause whenever you are in a liminal space.
Yota Schneider
Dear Linda,
Doubt is a challenge we all work against at times. Yes, it can be paralyzing, but, as you said, it can also serve as a compass.
Pausing is necessary; there is no way to know how long this “fertile” pause will last. It’s personal, but there are always signs. We may move forward prematurely, and the door will not open to the room we were hoping for. So, back through the door we go. When the time is right, nothing can stop us. There may be uncertainty and hard work ahead, but we are ready to meet the moment. You will know. You are comfortable with not knowing, and that is half the battle.
Good luck with the project. It sounds exciting and a great opportunity.
Ellen Hanley
Another wonderful dichotomy of multiple truths at once- the value and paralysis of doubtful pause. Saying “yes” to something new and uncomfortable or unexpected is so disorienting. I’m sure you will learn from the whole experience and be all the better for it!
Kathleen Lauterbach
I love your question of “How long do I pause?”
I have always been very cautious about leaping into relationships or projects.
Even ridiculously small projects- making a phone call or an appt can get paused to the point of no return. I have been trying to teach myself to just start-just do it rather than analyze it to death. I so appreciate your jumping in to the writing project without knowing all the parameters.
Now I often try to think – so what’s the worst case scenario if it doesn’t work. It usually isn’t that bad.
Kathleen Ellis
I’m so moved as I read everyone’s posts. It feels like a great surge of collective energy on the move! This is a bit shocking to me because I tend to stand somewhat outside, an over analyzer, layers of protection. But I feel the energy of each of you, rising up and going forth to dance on the shifting tectonic plates as Ellen so beautifully put, and pushing through that door, Constance, unsteady but unbowed. And Linda, I too feel that fear of waiting too long, of missing the opportunity for growth. This is my life’s work–to learn whatever lessons I’ve been given in this crazy play of consciousness. Kim, I’m pondering what it would feel like to open a door without expectations–with only curiosity. Such freedom! Yota, it seems to me we’re all getting braver, maybe not feeling so alone, but supported as we make these choices every day to go into the unknown. Thank you for creating this space.
Yota Schneider
Dear Kathleen,
Thank you for summarizing and sharing what everyone’s reflections meant to you. I love this image of a “great surge of collective energy on the move.”
Trust is hard to come by—trusting the ground we walk on, the doors that keep showing up, trusting ourselves, our instincts and decisions, trusting others, trusting the unknown, or even trusting the known. Yet, through the doors we go, time and again, hopefully becoming a bit freer, wiser, and more accepting of ourselves along the way.
Constance Malloy
Kathleen! I celebrate you! You are so full of life, or at least that has been my experience of you in the short time I have been in this group. I’m not Jewish, but I’m reminded of the phrase “May your memory be a blessing.” You are someone blessed with vivid, rich memories and I do so hope for you, and all the people who would be blessed by your words and worlds, that you do write that autobiographical novel as a way to celebrate your life for you, share your life with others, and remind us of how wonderful this life can be. While doing so, the scarier things might become less scary. That being said, medical issues are never fun, and I’m wishing you all the best in that area.
Constance Malloy
I posted my Kathleen’s in the wrong order, I think. This one is for K. Ellis. What you wrote is just one great big paragraph of loveliness, and I thank you so much for it.
Kathleen Lauterbach
The ground feels a little shaky these days. For the first time in my existence I really have to cope with the fact that my body just won’t function to the level I want it to. The questions of medical interventions loom large. I am not a person that gravitates towards Doctor visits. These doors are not ones I walk through easily.
At the same time I am questioning my capacity to live in two places. Both have their charm and advantages but owning two homes requires a lot of organization and care that I find becoming a bit overwhelming. I love walking through the doors of both homes so this is a bit of a dilemma.
The door that is hardest for me to even approach is the finality of life. I avoid even the simple task of making a will. I know logically that I need to have all my ducks in order but I still totally back away from that door.
Ellen Hanley
Hi Kathy,
I appreciate your vulnerability in naming your avoidance of approaching the finality of life. It is no easy feat, especially for someone like you who seems to have lived such a full and beautiful life that is not even close to over yet. I find that people are often very scared to bring up the topic, because of course, no one LIKES to think about “losing” the people they love or leaving the people they love. Avoidance seems natural, almost- but death is more truly natural. It is the ultimate “What you resist, persists.”
My mom recently took the step of will-writing, mostly spurred on by the passing of her own father at the age of 98 last year. Unfortunately, the weight of his caregiving and the sifting through of 65+ years of accumulated “stuff and things” was left to my mom over the last few years, inadvertently, and his will left some frustrations unaddressed. This experience nudged her to get ahead to protect her future and the future of her children, to ease the process for us after she passes (which is hopefully a long way off). And now, she won’t have to think about it anymore, which I imagine would be a relief.
Writing your will does not have to be a scary or negative task. Maybe, it can be more of a celebratory ritual, to acknowledge the legacy you have built through your experiences, your memories, your delicious stories of your childhood, and all of the people you have impacted through your years teaching and working with libraries (if my memory is correct, I apologize if I am mis-remembering!). It can be like a preparatory practice run for that autobiographical novel you’re going to write 😉
Kathleen Lauterbach
Thank you Ellen for this beautiful note and telling your Mom’s story. I love the idea of making it more of a celebration and already my mind is spinning to find significant bits of me to leave notes on for people I love rather than making it all about the financial value.
I was the person responsible for taking care of both my parents deaths. I think what I remember most was how hard it was for my Mom when we decided as a group of siblings that we needed to help her get rid of “stuff” in our home. She was really pretty self sufficient, but almost 92, at the time of our “let’s help her out“venture. The look in her eyes as we trudged stuff out of the basement was painful and at one point she uttered “It’s as if you’ve buried me already.” It really didn’t matter much what we said after that.
I think part of my hesitation is just that. I don’t want to feel like it’s over. I certainly know it will help everyone else out to have taken care of legal options. I have always been a person who thought of myself as eternal. Rather presumptuous.
This December I turn 75 and for the first time it has dawned on me that I may not have more than 20 or 25 more years. That seems incredibly short and the need to make it meaningful can be daunting.
Yota Schneider
Dear Kathy,
I have to echo Ellen’s admiration for showing up vulnerable yet unafraid in naming what makes the ground feel shaky under your feet these days. How you feel is expected, given the circumstances. Naming it is a significant first step to cracking that door open.
My experience with avoidance and denial—natural as they may be at one point or another—is that they tend to make a situation look scarier and more complicated than it may be. Greece and everything I’ve had and still have to deal with have taught me some hard lessons in acceptance, faith, and self-preservation.
What we fear and avoid becomes bigger and more impossible to deal with. Taking small, manageable steps and celebrating progress as we go provides the much-needed relief we need.
I love Ellen’s take on writing your will, including the nod to writing your autobiographical novel. None of us knows how long we have ahead, but we are here now. We have a choice whether we let anxiety and fear live rent-free in our heads or use the time we have to solve the problems we can solve, engage with what delights us, love the people we are with, and make room for moments of joy and ease.
That door you are afraid to open? It may surprise you in ways you cannot anticipate.
Linda Samuels
Kathy,
My heart is with you as you navigate this chapter of your life. I’m inspired by how you’re framing the various doors you’re encountering—both literally and figuratively.
I don’t know if you’re a Netflix watcher, but I just finished a poignant series with Ted Danson, “Man on the Inside.” The setting spoke to life after retirement and the later stage of life—with all of its joys and challenges. While it isn’t your story, you might find something that speaks to you. Word of warning: I cried my way through some of it.
I understand the challenge of facing things we’d rather not—failing body parts, doctor appointments, legal documents. I suppose those are the doors we’d prefer to leave closed. But there they are. I’m sending you hugs, love, and the strength to walk through them anyway.
Kathleen Lauterbach
Thanks for reminding me of that show. I saw one add and it intrigued me. I’m up for a good cry so that won’t stop me.
I have a colleague who just moved into an Assisted Living facility. I think we need to find the humor in it as well as the pathos.
Kathleen Ellis
Dear Kathy, I’m in this with you. We’re the Kathleen twins, and I’m right there with you on all the betrayals that are happening: body, mind, energy levels, you name it. I think the only thing that’s better for me is that I’ve finally developed a sense of humor! It might be a little late and be more like gallows humor, but as they say, better late than . . . But know that any time you want help kicking a door open or shutting one, I’m there. My kickboxing isn’t what it was, but it’s more like the idea of it might work. Age might be giving us super powers we don’t know about yet! And Constance is so right about how full of life you are, and you give that gift to so many people all the time. I’m glad you’re reaching out to let us know what’s happening so we can support you.
Kathleen Lauterbach
Twins separated at birth- definitely! I cherish that unique and special bond we share. Fortunately I grew up and still have a family that deals with everything through humor. It’s our go to when things get rough.
I am counting on both you and Zelda to keep me buoyant as we navigate the ever changing waters of aging!
Sarah Lipscomb
Solid ground would be a welcomed gift at this point. It feels like I’ve been surviving on shaky ground for as long as I can remember- caught between where I am and where I want to be. A tumultuous family dynamic made for shaky ground as a teenager, followed by the wild ride of college, and then set free into the “real” world to figure it all out for myself.
Once I graduated from college, it seemed like I was a vagabond looking for my place in the world, looking for somewhere to settle, some solid ground to stand on. Tyler and I have changed addresses 9 times since then. In the last 3 years alone we called 5 different residences “home.” And in that time, we added two new members to our family. So, at times, it didn’t even feel like there was any ground beneath my feet, let alone it being shaky.
When we settled in Albany and both got stable jobs, it felt like we had finally found some solid ground. We could settle into a routine and raise our daughter and begin to thrive instead of just survive. But then I started having panic attacks. And the familiar feeling of the ground disappearing returned. Tyler put the team on his back and with his support, the help of my therapist, and the love of my village, I was able to manage my panic and be there for myself and my family. And then I found out I was pregnant again.
This time, not only did it feel like the ground wasn’t even there, but that it swallowed me whole. I wasn’t ready to do this all over again. I had just started to find myself again and here I would be losing myself all over again. I took the time to process this new addition to our family and slowly but surely I found my way out of the ground. It was fragmented ground, with big sinkholes, but ground nonetheless.
Now that Amir is here and I’m 5 weeks postpartum, I can say I’ve now made it to shaky ground once again. It might be the closest to solid ground I’ve ever been, but time will tell. For now, I’m just grateful to have landed on any ground at all. In a few months, as I continue to find my footing on this shaky ground as a mom of 2, I will start to ask those unanswered questions: Who am I? What do I want? Where do I want to end up? And as those answers come, it will bring me closer to my next door, which will hopefully lead to some solid ground.
Kathleen Ellis
Sarah, after being in the group with you for quite a while now, and reading about your journey to find solid ground, a home where you can feel safe and rooted, I keep thinking of how you pursue life with such commitment and passion, and with such a generosity of spirit. As Kathy said, your love shines through every photo. The postpartum specialist at Mt. Sinai hospital once told me it takes 6 months for the hormones to go back to normal, so please give yourself the same compassion and kindness you give to everyone else. And hugs from the Aunties!
Yota Schneider
Dear Sarah,
You never cease to amaze me. You are a kind, loving, strong, resilient, and amazing woman.
Not everyone dealing with all you have had to deal with ends up where you are—being who you are. You wrote about thriving instead of surviving, but from where I stand, you have been doing both. I know it hasn’t felt this way, but why can’t both be true simultaneously? Some people have to learn how to survive in order to thrive. Survival becomes the foundation of growth; you are a beautiful example of that.
You and Tyler chose well, and the two of you have been meticulously building your beautiful life together. You have surrounded yourselves with a village and supported each other through storms, earthquakes, and constant change. And here you are, loving parents and partners, raising your kiddos in the most loving way while building your place in the world.
I know what it means to navigate a “tumultuous family dynamic” from a very early age. It never changed; it never stopped. The “real” world hasn’t been all that fantastic either … feeling like a “vagabond,” allowing people in my life who would enforce that feeling, finding and losing myself, my place, my compass over and over again, balancing on thin ice and shifting plates, a new country, a new family, a new culture, changing directions, having dreams and giving them up, but never stop dreaming. Every time I thought I arrived on solid ground and maybe I could work on figuring things out, the ground shifted … again.
For some people, it is like that: the ground never seems to settle, and the weather keeps changing. Still, when I look at people like you, I know there is hope and goodness. You are way ahead of the game and where I was at your age. That’s one of the reasons Neal and I waited 12 years before we had the girls. It was essential to do the work and still, we were not prepared. Raising children upends our lives and changes us from the inside out.
Postpartum is a bitch. I won’t apologize for the word Take good care of yourself and let people care for you, too.
As far as figuring out who you are, what you want, and where you want to end up … you got this. You know who you are now, what you want today, and where you have ended up … right where you need to be … for now.
These questions will never be answered fully. Curious, creative, and open people will never settle for an answer. They will keep asking these questions because, instinctively, they know there is always more, and change, internal and otherwise, is the only constant.
We love you! Consider yourself hugged today and everyday!
Sarah Lipscomb
Yota, Kathy, and Kathleen,
I am overcome with emotion (in a good way) by your responses here. Being part of this wonderful group of women, I can always feel your love and support even when we’re not together. However, reading it definitely hits different.
I can’t adequately express how much your words mean to me, so for now I will just say thank you and I am so grateful for you.
Yota, your thoughtfulness is evident in every word you write and those words always touch my heart. I cannot begin to thank you for being such a pillar of love and light in my life and for connecting me with this group of wonderful women. I am eternally grateful.
Looking forward to seeing you all tomorrow!
Kathleen Lauterbach
Hi Sarah,
I wanted to tell you how much joy I see in the pictures you have posted on Facebook of you and your beautiful family. The pure love you have for your little clan jumps right out of the photos. It makes my heart feel good every time.
My friend that I live with has panic attacks. I understand how frightening they are and how hard it can be to work out of them. I’m so glad you have a support team.
I can’t imagine moving that many times. I am a houseplant when it comes to homes. I stay there as long as I can. It seems as if your spot in Albany feels like a place you can really root. I hope so. Are you buried in snow now?
I think being a Mom to those two beautiful beings is about as challenging on the one hand as it gets and also as rewarding as it could be. Shaky at times but then there are those smiles and cuddles to ground you. Keep up the good work. I love seeing someone throw their heart into being a good parent.
Rosa Conti
Apologies for my delayed response to this first prompt; this is my first year participating, and I was confused about the units.
I first read this quote in a 1985 biography of Jim Morrison, the singer of The Doors, when I was 17. This quote inspired the name of the band. I smile now, remembering that these were mere ‘words’ to me at the time – decades later, they mean many things to me all at once.
The other thing that comes to mind now is a 1998 film called Sliding Doors. It shows the protagonist (Gwyneth Paltrow) arriving home early from work to find her male partner cheating on her and proceeds through the film to show a dichotomy fate, an alternate storyline that would have occurred had she missed the subway doors and arrived home later – ultimately never meeting and falling in love with a man more deserving of her. Blake’s quote reminds me of this movie and my forever fascination with “lives never lived.”
These could be the choices we make or the fate we are given. In the latter, for example, I have always marveled (and felt guilt) knowing how fortunate, blessed, life-lottery-lucky I am, along with others, to be born into a loving family in a first-world country with opportunities, resources, etc. I am almost embarrassed to share that I feel guilty if I stay in the soothing shower longer than needed, always thinking about those who don’t have such luxury. Have you ever considered the contributions that our world will never see from people who don’t have the means of education or had a supportive upbringing? Such a formidable disparity exists, perhaps to keep us awake at our wheels.
Sometimes, sorrow can be a good thing because it makes us more present in our own lives.
XO