middle ground adventuring
solo rejuvenation time in nature, camping on the coast, when being just okay is more than enough …
I’m currently out in our camper van, Towanda, during our winterless winter in the Northland of New Zealand. Contained in the tiny space with these views, the rise and fall of the tide, sea bird’s shenanigans, beach walks, reading, writing and the ability to better tune into what I want to experience in the moment, being free of a list of “shoulds” I can never conquer at home––it’s a bit of a cleansing reset.
Before I became so very unwell I would take off in Towanda for some grounding time, much of the time within her was as a space holding the writing of my book while experiencing nature’s embrace.
This morning I waited for the sunrise that never came. The sky lightened. I could see hints of blue between gray clouds, but the shiny orb has yet to show itself. Yes, there was a little disappointment that I’d waited for the show that never happened. It reminds me of how relative the concept of eventful, beautiful, engaging... actually is in my life.
Most ancient spiritual beliefs make reference to disavowing judgment, but we tend to interpret that to mean releasing only negative judgment- of ourselves, others, situations… Even now, it’s a judgment if I call today’s sunrise mediocre rather than sitting with the fact that it just is.
Over the past decades when I’ve found myself wanting, needing, to return to non-judgment, a space near impossible to practice as my status quo, I’d remind myself that judgment is judgment, good, bad or otherwise. It’s a room in our minds that can invade our spirit and feed into a life of extrinsic/external motivation (ie mood/wellbeing based on things outside of us vs intrinsic/internal motivation rooted in being inherently able to regulate and be at peace with ourselves– for the most part). Judgment rarely walks the line between black and white thinking; it tends to be all good or all bad, easy slots in which to file our lives, especially in these/those precarious times.
After a lifetime of working in challenging settings with humans and parenting our precious humans and all the bouncing between euphoria and desperation and everything in between, at times I’ve struggled with the ability to tune into what my soul needs. I’m sure many of you can relate. And mind you, during those chaotic times I wasn’t even aware how much my self-agency didn’t enter into my choices, walking that tight-wire of life, attempting to keep the vast amount of balls in the air, trying to do the right thing.
In January 2023, just after walking my dear friend Dawn home, I once again thought, hmmm I feel like I have a bug. I was no stranger to periodically having a week of my life turn to yuck, convinced I’d picked up a random virus or maybe a wee flare of my Crohn’s disease that had me fatigued and overall blah. Except this time the symptoms didn’t ease; they worsened. My energy didn’t return. There was flank pain that hadn’t been there before. I became near bed ridden. After finally going to my g.p. and the ensuing medical investigation lead by many specialists, I became the owner of another chronic illness affecting my kidneys. Another apt description? My health was a hot mess. No judgment, just facts.
Down the line Dawn’s daughter commented that she felt like my health issues had been brought on by the stress of her mom’s illness and death. There was medical proof that the condition had been there my entire life, but there’s never been any doubt that my system is affected by stress assaults, but, no, stress wasn’t the causal factor.
During those first two+ years of being acutely (yet chronically) unwell I was the recipient of lessons I’d never before considered. Writing takes a lot of energy. Writing about death and dying and freight trains of grief take even more energy. Interacting with others takes so very much energy. Running a podcast and project and interviewing people about their tender experiences surrounding death, dying, and the aftermath took a now insurmountable amount of energy. My energetic bandwidth was maxed out for socializing and so much more, period.
More recently, over the past six months, I’ve experienced being more in the middle-ground of symptoms. My kidneys no longer constantly ache. Rather than giving my energy a (judgmental) descriptor, there are concrete changes in my behavior that tell me my energy is on the rise. I don’t have as much of an overwhelming need to sequester from social interactions. I can be more active. In the past couple of months we’ve taken in multiple plays, movies, and such.
Most recently we stayed with friends overnight rather than make the 90 minute drive back home after a show. These friends have been no stranger to health assaults and it was lovely time of acknowledging this later (but not ancient) stage of life we are in and opening ourselves to our deaths and those of others and living in the liminal space of not knowing, especially during health challenges. No matter what healthy practices we have, our aging and health will have its way with us. No news flash there.
Now, here I sit in Towanda, having come out for a nature-soak. Alone. I had pushed myself out a few times over the last three years but this trip feels markedly different. I’m feeling energized by this outing.
Fatigue messes with our brains. At my worst I wasn’t able to sink into reading, or even scroll or enjoy watching movies or shorts. This year I’ve been voraciously reading. Just this past month our library had a couple of books I was interested in that I couldn’t get from our digital library. For the first time in a long time I held a book and turned its pages. My senses were transported to my love of books, starting as a kid; it felt like a homecoming of sorts. There will be more page turning to come.
I’m a 65 year old retired human, mother, wife carrying around a few chronic illnesses while hovering in the space between sublime and decrepit. The space I am in is neither all good or all bed bad. Never in my life has it felt so urgent to check in with myself in any given moment, and listen to what my body and mind says it can and cannot handle and heeding that wisdom, doing my best to let go of any self-deprecation surrounding challenges.
Never has the frequently chirped phrase it is what it is felt so true. Previously there might have been the consistent caveat of but you can change it. I’ve reached the bridge of aging where I’m best realistically accepting in my bones that one day I won’t be able to change it, no matter what I do.
In the mean time, I’m so gratefully blessed to be able to pay attention to the page, be it written or writing on it, and so many other telltale signs that signal my easing back into the land of the living.
May we all find simple ways to feed our souls. May I have the grace when it comes to health, to accept the things I cannot change and the wisdom to know the difference.
Much love and thanks for being here.