I haven’t only been sitting around listening to Air Supply. I’ve done some other stuff, too.
I’ve been making the rounds to some of my favorite places and spaces, like the spot near Lake Sammamish, where I went with the sole intention of seeing one of two bald eagles that live there. It just so happened that I was blessed to see four of them circling above me!
I also stopped at Fox Hollow Farm to visit Willie one last time.
She wasn’t there.
My heart sank as I scanned the run over and over again just to be sure. But there were no Blue Laced Red Wyandottes to be found. As I turned to walk back to the van I found myself smiling, imagining – no, hoping – that she had somehow pulled another magical getaway. Willie is a survivor. And I know something about that now, too.
But mostly I’ve been manifesting — envisioning the people, landscapes, and feelings I want to experience in this next chapter of my life. Although I’ve been mapping a few places I’d like to visit over the next few days, weeks, and months, I’m okay with not knowing my final destination for a little while longer. I don’t need to know all the details of my future today. I’ll know when I know.
But what’s so interesting is just how unsettling that is for some people to hear.
What’s your plan? When are you leaving? Where are you moving?
These are the questions I’m asked on a daily basis. And, the truth is, I have no idea.
Maybe nowhere; maybe everywhere.
At this very moment I could go anywhere and do anything, and, honestly, it’s a little overwhelming. So, right now I’m simply trusting that the path I’m supposed to be on will reveal itself along the way. That’s where faith and trust come in.
But I get it. Most of us planner types spend our entire lives doing everything in our power to force life to conform to our vision of what it’s supposed to be, all the way up to slicing the retirement cake. We allow fear to guide us, mitigating risks at every turn, playing it safe, making sure we have enough.
The problem is, when we impose our vision of perfection onto our lives, gripping so tightly to that single outcome, the fall of disappointment is a lot longer and a lot harder. The losses we experience hurt more, and the health consequences that follow suite are often more intense.
Even so, trusting that everything will be okay doesn’t mean we can just hang from a tree in a hammock and expect abundance to drop into our laps. We have to do some work. We have to invest in self-care. We have to be active participants in our lives. And we have to take some risks.
Because what’s the point of it all if we don’t enjoy it?
As I prepare to set out on my mystery trip this Independence Day, I’m feeling a mix of excitement and butterflies. The nervous energy isn’t at all related to safety; it’s more of a curious anticipation — Who will I meet? What will I see and learn? What opportunities will arise along the way?
This is the advice I’m giving myself: Trust. Breathe. And listen to a little Air Supply. And maybe do some crying if you need to. And have some fun. And no matter what happens, everything is going to be okay.