Beautifully and wisely written, Stephanie. Thank you! My home and place were ripped out from under me at mid-life, when I was 55 and my beloved husband died of brain cancer. I've been wandering ever since, learning more about who this solo me is and what she wants from the final decades of her life as I re-story houses and sample communities within my home range in the Rocky Mountains. I am searching for my tribe and a place to root, just as you are. The disorientation of the process is real, and very, very difficult to sit with. And yet, we learn and grow in the re-defining and re-locating. Blessings and a hug to you!
Your words are warm and wise, Susan, an understanding of this sometime frustrating process that contains just enough grit to create a pearl at some point. I'm waiting for the pearl. May we continue to grow and want to grow. Hugs back to you. Thank you for being in my life.
Oh, yes, that grit we keep rolling around and coating so it won't irritate! May yours become a pearl sooner than later. I think the grit I am dealing with is helping me understand what I really want and where I want to be, so I'll let it irritate me for as long as I am learning. Big hugs to you!
Such a beautiful piece…I am always struck by how many people share a similar path and awaken to experiences in the heart of their elderhood…a shared human experience that appears not coincidently but just when it needs to. Thank you, Stephanie, for being here.
Thank you for such a thoughtful read and for the kind comment. A remembering of the shared human experience -- that it's not just your story, or my story, but THE story -- the story of the human experience. I love that. In turn, thank you for being here as well. Big hugs.
I'm reading these reflections while waiting for the movers to arrive. Our house sold quickly and we have been madly scrambling for our cross country move to a much smaller house. Such a series of lessons in letting go: Of belongings, of friends, of church community. So many decisions: Do I keep this object, or just the memories attached to it? How to pack it? Or where to donate it? A big house holds many secrets, all unearthed now.
May your move across the country be filled with ease and beauty. The letting go is like an anthropological dig into our own selves in its many iterations. I love this: "A big house holds many secrets, all unearthed now." A reflection of who we are in this process of moving. Sending all goodwill and big hugs.
Beautifully done, Stephanie: a lovely expression of the need to reimagine ourselves. I've taken a different route: finding myself in place, rooting deep and holding on. In my early life, I was a wandering soul. At mid-life, I was fortunate to discover my home place. The challenge for me: finding ways to rediscover, reinvent, reimagine my self without leaving home.
Same journey, different parameters -- this journey of reinvention and reimagining. And you do it so well, with your writing, your world view and your teaching. As always Susan, respect and appreciation for who you are in the world. Very few, if any, will walk away from you uninspired.
Stephanie, your reflections on home and transition are beautiful, they resonate deeply as I find myself taking down my own ‘beautiful tower’. Moving, reinventing, releasing - they all carry that blend of grief and anticipation, of shedding and stepping into the unknown.
For me, the act of relocation has always felt like an unravelling and a renewal. There’s the ache of leaving behind familiar spaces, yet also an undeniable pull toward the promise of new possibilities. Each move, whether physical, emotional or spiritual, seems to ask: Who have I been here? Who will I become next? Living the questions comes to mind.
The question of home, of belonging, is one that lingers and is different for everyone I’m guessing. Sometimes, home can be found in the tangible - walls, landscapes, traditions. Other times, it’s found in the intangible - love, memory, and the quiet certainty that we are tethered to something so much greater than geography.
I love how you frame transition as myth in motion. It gives such reverence to our journey. What has this waiting period revealed to me so far? A little of my answer lies in my latest post: The Healing of the Wounded Healer. What a journey, this thing we call life! Thank you so much for living the questions and sharing your insight and reflections with us.
Deborah, you also inspire "living the questions." Transformation is like coming home again, and I'm especially struck by the cycle of nature that always overlays the journey -- that of sacrifice, rebirth, fruition and decay. I'm grateful for your understanding of myth and how it weaves in and out of our life and growth cycles. The world is so hurting now for the memory of mythology from the past, pulled forward now into our personal day-to-day lives. May we walk in peace.
Home stopped being a fixed place for me at age 13. My parents tore away my anchor with a move from an apartment in my treasured city neighborhood to a home in the suburbs. My mother's dream, my nightmare.
In the city, I had a huge number of friends -- from my immediate neighborhood, my school, my church and my Scout troop. We could just walk to fulfill any need.
The suburbs promised none of that. Nothing was within walking distance including school (which, as a private school, had no bus service), church, shopping and entertainment. The neighborhood, beautiful and manicured as it was, was bereft of anyone even close to my age. I knew no one, and it was the start of summer, so for 3 months there was no capability of making the friends that I would eventually find at school. The move was the first of many in a lifetime of changing circumstances that would define where I was to be planted. It became more of a pot than a plot -- easily relocatable from one place to another.
I made my 29th move at age 82. Each prior move involved letting go and redefining myself. Some were to larger, expanding places. Others involved downsizing and simplifying. It's impossible to answer the inevitable question, "Where are you from?" that comes with each move.
I can not begin to fathom what it must be like to move from a home of 40 -- or even 20 -- years. I've started over too many times to hold any place as home base. On the other hand, I count as friends people from several countries and have had experiences unmatched by others.
Now almost 85, I am hoping for no more moves. I lack the energy to begin again one more time.
I think I've mentioned before, that my husband and I have had our home on and off the market for the last year or so, too. It's a strange sort of limbo land that brings with it a lot of uncertainty and stress. And work! We had ours sold, but our buyer's buyer became unemployed and everything fell apart. It turns out, the timing wouldn't have been the best for us for a lot of reasons anyway. Long story.
I appreciate the points you made about moving. Even when it's a choice, as it is for us too, there is a letting go, a grieving process, and a recalibration/redefining of one's future.
And, I LOVE this: "... a humbling walk to the threshold, that sacred place where what was meets what could possibly be." That is profound and so true. It's also more than a little scary.
I cannot wait to read more about your moving process. I know it'll help me with mine, and I'm grateful for that. I will check out what Lila Sterling wrote about her experience, too. So, thank you for the recommendation.
Good luck with the packing, emotional processing, selling, buying, relocating, resettling - all of it!
Nancy, Moving is not for the faint of heart! I too have had the experience of having a buyer fall through. We are ill-prepared for liminality and quiet in our too-fast world. That being said, I hold you in my heart for a safe, productive and easy move to the new place, yet to be. Sending love and goodwill.
I found it interesting to read your post, but unlike so many others, it did not really resonate. I have lived in the same house for 50 years and yes, it is home, despite the fact that it is far from where I was first at home (born in US, live in London). I do not feel restless, I am not searching for something new, but feel a quiet contentment where I live. In fact, we sometimes think we should downsize and I would be delighted to find myself in a smaller place that I liked, but the process of getting there feels too painful to think about. That's not about things, which I could dispense with in a minute, but all the palaver, administration and sheer hard work – all of which taking me away from my life of thought and writing.
I am not saying one is better than the other, but just that we are different.
Viva la difference. Some grow rooted. Some grow wild. There is a lot of grace that comes with contentment, Ann. May you always feel cozy and at peace. Hugs.
Completely agree on vive la difference. I am not claiming any more grace than anyone else, but as I pondered your words (and the very positive response) in my bath just now - the best place for thinking! – I realised that the big problem with moving is the time it takes. The time seeking a buyer, the time seeking a new place, the time finding a new doctor, a new shop that sells bread I like etc etc. None of that is fun for me - just a chore. I am interested that so many writers are so keen to engage their time in this way.
For me, and I would imagine others, writing is not just about writing, it's also about living fully -- how I engage with challenges and conflict, with gratitude and grace. I often find the extraordinary living within the folds of the ordinary, so even when I'm not writing, I'm writing. And you're right, the big thing about moving is that it takes time, which is such a valuable commodity, especially if you don't want to spend it.
One of the things that I'm learning about myself during this time of trying to sell a house is to write everything. That's advice Nora Ephron used to give. "Write everything." Write about the success AND the failures. Write about the dreams AND the conflict. Write about the tending AND the chore of it all. As a writer I want to engage not with just my story, but the human story -- and both are very messy and very beautiful. Biggest of hugs.
You did it again, Stephanie. Inspiring and beautiful
Thank you wise woman
I love witnessing your perspective and embodied engagement with your moving process as ritual and initiation. I’ve recently changed rooms actually everything has changed. I’ve been working on a piece about it as I too, feel it as a deep journey of shedding, humiliation and amazing discoveries. Thank you.
The idea of shedding is a profound one when related to our soul calling, isn't it? Sending you love and goodwill, Prajna. I'm so glad you're in my life.
You touched my soul. We are preparing to go back to Seattle, my life long home, after a year in Baltimore where we bought a home. For the last ten years I have been moving and wondering why. I have let my soul guide me. And here we are again about to cross the country. I just turned 68. My husband 70. We are not lost, and yet we are searching and hungry. Thank you for this.
This is such a profound description: "We are not lost, and yet we are searching and hungry." There's such richness in these words. May your move be easeful and filled with the promise of possibility. May we continue to grow from our travels, both inwardly and outwardly. Thank you for such a thoughtful comment.
Hi Stephanie, This post is beautiful and I'm looking forward to reading your writing when you have settled into your new 'home'🥰 And coincidentally, I just wrote a piece about 'Home' inspired by a guest appearance in Beth Kempton's INK & FLAME class by Kerri ní Dochartaigh. I'll be sharing it soon. So happy I get to read your writing here♥️🙏🕊️
Camilla, I'm excited about seeing the piece by Kerri ni Dochartaigh. Thank you for being a most cherished and thoughtful reader. I love walking side by side. Thank you.
I just have to say Stephanie how lovely it feels to be a cherished writing sister of yours and that we get to encourage each other to Write on😁♥️🙏🕊️ Here's to celebrating cherished writing sisters🍾🥂🎉 ✨🧚♀️🤸♀️🌼🌷🌈🌺🪷💕
My experience here is inverted. My family moved so frequently that I didn’t have a location-based sense of home until my first partner. I was feeling and saying old-wisdom stuff on the topic since I was a little kid. Now I’m just weird. Impermanence is an observable constant in my life.
Thank you for sharing the beginning of your new journey. My partner died suddenly in spring of 2019 and for 5 years I struggled in that life after death. Finally in the fall of 2024, I sold our sailboat & loaded my car for an adventure cross country. 5 weeks & 4600 miles later, my solo journey ended with me resettling in a new home! Now in 2025, my reinventing continues as I write my story “She’s Not From Here” , so grateful for the Substack community! 💜
What a beautiful, bittersweet story of coming home. I'm so grateful that you found a home in Substack too. There is a lot of goodness and support here. Write on, writing sister. Sending you the biggest of hugs.
I have lost my home, and/or all of my possessions, several times in my life due to parental family breakups (4 times before the age of 21) and since then due to divorce and finances. Now, at 60, I find myself finally rooted in my (originally indigenous) home of Ireland, and I'm learning what it is to stay still. To plant food. To build a community of friends and neighbours, knowing that (hopefully) I'm here until I die.
My longing for roots is deeper than place, and slowing down my modernity-conditioned mind to make those roots grow FASTER is one that I'm witnessing and gently changing my attitude towards. I am the sum of all the places and people I've been in my life, and now it's time to let that simmer... slowly!
Sending you a sweet harvest of all that your current home was and is for you both. And much luck that the move will start, er, moving! soon x
"My longing for roots is deeper than place. . ." May this be so for me as well. This past decade my husband and I have moved three times. We're like a couple of old cats looking for a patch of sunshine. Thank you for the blessing of "sweet harvest." Sending you love, hugs and goodwill, Stephanie
Beautiful. Thank you. These changes and choices we make as we get older do feel like sacred choices... Sometimes deep lettings go around what is no longer and sometimes claiming of what we want and need to find our place in that great mystery. Big, no matter their root. Thanks again. This felt like a delicious read. Maybe because a choice, a move, is brewing in my life.
The notion of "claiming what we want and need to find our place in that great mystery," speaks to my soul. At the end of the day, it always seems to be about the great grappling of mystery and our place in it. The image I hold of letting go is one of a snake shedding its skin; then finding their place in their new skin. Choice and motion, may it be a sweet brew for you, Stacy. Big hugs.
Beautifully and wisely written, Stephanie. Thank you! My home and place were ripped out from under me at mid-life, when I was 55 and my beloved husband died of brain cancer. I've been wandering ever since, learning more about who this solo me is and what she wants from the final decades of her life as I re-story houses and sample communities within my home range in the Rocky Mountains. I am searching for my tribe and a place to root, just as you are. The disorientation of the process is real, and very, very difficult to sit with. And yet, we learn and grow in the re-defining and re-locating. Blessings and a hug to you!
Your words are warm and wise, Susan, an understanding of this sometime frustrating process that contains just enough grit to create a pearl at some point. I'm waiting for the pearl. May we continue to grow and want to grow. Hugs back to you. Thank you for being in my life.
Oh, yes, that grit we keep rolling around and coating so it won't irritate! May yours become a pearl sooner than later. I think the grit I am dealing with is helping me understand what I really want and where I want to be, so I'll let it irritate me for as long as I am learning. Big hugs to you!
Such a beautiful piece…I am always struck by how many people share a similar path and awaken to experiences in the heart of their elderhood…a shared human experience that appears not coincidently but just when it needs to. Thank you, Stephanie, for being here.
Thank you for such a thoughtful read and for the kind comment. A remembering of the shared human experience -- that it's not just your story, or my story, but THE story -- the story of the human experience. I love that. In turn, thank you for being here as well. Big hugs.
I'm reading these reflections while waiting for the movers to arrive. Our house sold quickly and we have been madly scrambling for our cross country move to a much smaller house. Such a series of lessons in letting go: Of belongings, of friends, of church community. So many decisions: Do I keep this object, or just the memories attached to it? How to pack it? Or where to donate it? A big house holds many secrets, all unearthed now.
May your move across the country be filled with ease and beauty. The letting go is like an anthropological dig into our own selves in its many iterations. I love this: "A big house holds many secrets, all unearthed now." A reflection of who we are in this process of moving. Sending all goodwill and big hugs.
Beautifully done, Stephanie: a lovely expression of the need to reimagine ourselves. I've taken a different route: finding myself in place, rooting deep and holding on. In my early life, I was a wandering soul. At mid-life, I was fortunate to discover my home place. The challenge for me: finding ways to rediscover, reinvent, reimagine my self without leaving home.
Same journey, different parameters -- this journey of reinvention and reimagining. And you do it so well, with your writing, your world view and your teaching. As always Susan, respect and appreciation for who you are in the world. Very few, if any, will walk away from you uninspired.
And might I add, Susan A, you are an inspiration as you do that rediscovering, reinventing and reimagining while in your place!
Stephanie, your reflections on home and transition are beautiful, they resonate deeply as I find myself taking down my own ‘beautiful tower’. Moving, reinventing, releasing - they all carry that blend of grief and anticipation, of shedding and stepping into the unknown.
For me, the act of relocation has always felt like an unravelling and a renewal. There’s the ache of leaving behind familiar spaces, yet also an undeniable pull toward the promise of new possibilities. Each move, whether physical, emotional or spiritual, seems to ask: Who have I been here? Who will I become next? Living the questions comes to mind.
The question of home, of belonging, is one that lingers and is different for everyone I’m guessing. Sometimes, home can be found in the tangible - walls, landscapes, traditions. Other times, it’s found in the intangible - love, memory, and the quiet certainty that we are tethered to something so much greater than geography.
I love how you frame transition as myth in motion. It gives such reverence to our journey. What has this waiting period revealed to me so far? A little of my answer lies in my latest post: The Healing of the Wounded Healer. What a journey, this thing we call life! Thank you so much for living the questions and sharing your insight and reflections with us.
Deborah, you also inspire "living the questions." Transformation is like coming home again, and I'm especially struck by the cycle of nature that always overlays the journey -- that of sacrifice, rebirth, fruition and decay. I'm grateful for your understanding of myth and how it weaves in and out of our life and growth cycles. The world is so hurting now for the memory of mythology from the past, pulled forward now into our personal day-to-day lives. May we walk in peace.
Home stopped being a fixed place for me at age 13. My parents tore away my anchor with a move from an apartment in my treasured city neighborhood to a home in the suburbs. My mother's dream, my nightmare.
In the city, I had a huge number of friends -- from my immediate neighborhood, my school, my church and my Scout troop. We could just walk to fulfill any need.
The suburbs promised none of that. Nothing was within walking distance including school (which, as a private school, had no bus service), church, shopping and entertainment. The neighborhood, beautiful and manicured as it was, was bereft of anyone even close to my age. I knew no one, and it was the start of summer, so for 3 months there was no capability of making the friends that I would eventually find at school. The move was the first of many in a lifetime of changing circumstances that would define where I was to be planted. It became more of a pot than a plot -- easily relocatable from one place to another.
I made my 29th move at age 82. Each prior move involved letting go and redefining myself. Some were to larger, expanding places. Others involved downsizing and simplifying. It's impossible to answer the inevitable question, "Where are you from?" that comes with each move.
I can not begin to fathom what it must be like to move from a home of 40 -- or even 20 -- years. I've started over too many times to hold any place as home base. On the other hand, I count as friends people from several countries and have had experiences unmatched by others.
Now almost 85, I am hoping for no more moves. I lack the energy to begin again one more time.
Dear fellow Nomad -- some of us are meant to wander and to constantly morph, change and grow. Sending you big hugs and much appreciation.
May we move, be moved,
hear and heed our homing call.
To a nice next nest.
This is my favorite line "To a nice next nest." Thank you for your poetic soul, Marisol. I appreciate you.
Your writing is so beautiful. Thank you.
Thank you for such a sweet blessing, Christine. Big hugs.
Hi Stephanie,
I think I've mentioned before, that my husband and I have had our home on and off the market for the last year or so, too. It's a strange sort of limbo land that brings with it a lot of uncertainty and stress. And work! We had ours sold, but our buyer's buyer became unemployed and everything fell apart. It turns out, the timing wouldn't have been the best for us for a lot of reasons anyway. Long story.
I appreciate the points you made about moving. Even when it's a choice, as it is for us too, there is a letting go, a grieving process, and a recalibration/redefining of one's future.
And, I LOVE this: "... a humbling walk to the threshold, that sacred place where what was meets what could possibly be." That is profound and so true. It's also more than a little scary.
I cannot wait to read more about your moving process. I know it'll help me with mine, and I'm grateful for that. I will check out what Lila Sterling wrote about her experience, too. So, thank you for the recommendation.
Good luck with the packing, emotional processing, selling, buying, relocating, resettling - all of it!
Nancy, Moving is not for the faint of heart! I too have had the experience of having a buyer fall through. We are ill-prepared for liminality and quiet in our too-fast world. That being said, I hold you in my heart for a safe, productive and easy move to the new place, yet to be. Sending love and goodwill.
I found it interesting to read your post, but unlike so many others, it did not really resonate. I have lived in the same house for 50 years and yes, it is home, despite the fact that it is far from where I was first at home (born in US, live in London). I do not feel restless, I am not searching for something new, but feel a quiet contentment where I live. In fact, we sometimes think we should downsize and I would be delighted to find myself in a smaller place that I liked, but the process of getting there feels too painful to think about. That's not about things, which I could dispense with in a minute, but all the palaver, administration and sheer hard work – all of which taking me away from my life of thought and writing.
I am not saying one is better than the other, but just that we are different.
Viva la difference. Some grow rooted. Some grow wild. There is a lot of grace that comes with contentment, Ann. May you always feel cozy and at peace. Hugs.
Completely agree on vive la difference. I am not claiming any more grace than anyone else, but as I pondered your words (and the very positive response) in my bath just now - the best place for thinking! – I realised that the big problem with moving is the time it takes. The time seeking a buyer, the time seeking a new place, the time finding a new doctor, a new shop that sells bread I like etc etc. None of that is fun for me - just a chore. I am interested that so many writers are so keen to engage their time in this way.
For me, and I would imagine others, writing is not just about writing, it's also about living fully -- how I engage with challenges and conflict, with gratitude and grace. I often find the extraordinary living within the folds of the ordinary, so even when I'm not writing, I'm writing. And you're right, the big thing about moving is that it takes time, which is such a valuable commodity, especially if you don't want to spend it.
One of the things that I'm learning about myself during this time of trying to sell a house is to write everything. That's advice Nora Ephron used to give. "Write everything." Write about the success AND the failures. Write about the dreams AND the conflict. Write about the tending AND the chore of it all. As a writer I want to engage not with just my story, but the human story -- and both are very messy and very beautiful. Biggest of hugs.
Hugs back!
You did it again, Stephanie. Inspiring and beautiful
Thank you wise woman
I love witnessing your perspective and embodied engagement with your moving process as ritual and initiation. I’ve recently changed rooms actually everything has changed. I’ve been working on a piece about it as I too, feel it as a deep journey of shedding, humiliation and amazing discoveries. Thank you.
The idea of shedding is a profound one when related to our soul calling, isn't it? Sending you love and goodwill, Prajna. I'm so glad you're in my life.
Absolutely. When we can enter these liminal spaces, I feel the intimacy of our soul home close and collective.
I cherish having you in my life
Thank you, dear friend
You give such grace, Prajna. Thank you.
You touched my soul. We are preparing to go back to Seattle, my life long home, after a year in Baltimore where we bought a home. For the last ten years I have been moving and wondering why. I have let my soul guide me. And here we are again about to cross the country. I just turned 68. My husband 70. We are not lost, and yet we are searching and hungry. Thank you for this.
This is such a profound description: "We are not lost, and yet we are searching and hungry." There's such richness in these words. May your move be easeful and filled with the promise of possibility. May we continue to grow from our travels, both inwardly and outwardly. Thank you for such a thoughtful comment.
Thank you. Very kind and generous of you.
Hi Stephanie, This post is beautiful and I'm looking forward to reading your writing when you have settled into your new 'home'🥰 And coincidentally, I just wrote a piece about 'Home' inspired by a guest appearance in Beth Kempton's INK & FLAME class by Kerri ní Dochartaigh. I'll be sharing it soon. So happy I get to read your writing here♥️🙏🕊️
Camilla, I'm excited about seeing the piece by Kerri ni Dochartaigh. Thank you for being a most cherished and thoughtful reader. I love walking side by side. Thank you.
Right back at you too Ms. cherished and thoughtful reader🥰 I'm grateful we get to walk this writer's path side by side too✨🧚♀️🤸♀️🌼🌷🪷💕
Write on, cherished sister!
I just have to say Stephanie how lovely it feels to be a cherished writing sister of yours and that we get to encourage each other to Write on😁♥️🙏🕊️ Here's to celebrating cherished writing sisters🍾🥂🎉 ✨🧚♀️🤸♀️🌼🌷🌈🌺🪷💕
YES! Let's celebrate cherished writing sisters. We are blessed. Biggest of hugs.
My experience here is inverted. My family moved so frequently that I didn’t have a location-based sense of home until my first partner. I was feeling and saying old-wisdom stuff on the topic since I was a little kid. Now I’m just weird. Impermanence is an observable constant in my life.
I had the same experience growing up, Eric -- a lot of moving. Still, I'd like to root in for my last decade or so . . . Big hugs.
I want that for you. Simply couldn’t happen to a nicer girl!
Hugs.
Thanks, Eric . . .
Thank you for sharing the beginning of your new journey. My partner died suddenly in spring of 2019 and for 5 years I struggled in that life after death. Finally in the fall of 2024, I sold our sailboat & loaded my car for an adventure cross country. 5 weeks & 4600 miles later, my solo journey ended with me resettling in a new home! Now in 2025, my reinventing continues as I write my story “She’s Not From Here” , so grateful for the Substack community! 💜
What a beautiful, bittersweet story of coming home. I'm so grateful that you found a home in Substack too. There is a lot of goodness and support here. Write on, writing sister. Sending you the biggest of hugs.
I have lost my home, and/or all of my possessions, several times in my life due to parental family breakups (4 times before the age of 21) and since then due to divorce and finances. Now, at 60, I find myself finally rooted in my (originally indigenous) home of Ireland, and I'm learning what it is to stay still. To plant food. To build a community of friends and neighbours, knowing that (hopefully) I'm here until I die.
My longing for roots is deeper than place, and slowing down my modernity-conditioned mind to make those roots grow FASTER is one that I'm witnessing and gently changing my attitude towards. I am the sum of all the places and people I've been in my life, and now it's time to let that simmer... slowly!
Sending you a sweet harvest of all that your current home was and is for you both. And much luck that the move will start, er, moving! soon x
"My longing for roots is deeper than place. . ." May this be so for me as well. This past decade my husband and I have moved three times. We're like a couple of old cats looking for a patch of sunshine. Thank you for the blessing of "sweet harvest." Sending you love, hugs and goodwill, Stephanie
Beautiful. Thank you. These changes and choices we make as we get older do feel like sacred choices... Sometimes deep lettings go around what is no longer and sometimes claiming of what we want and need to find our place in that great mystery. Big, no matter their root. Thanks again. This felt like a delicious read. Maybe because a choice, a move, is brewing in my life.
The notion of "claiming what we want and need to find our place in that great mystery," speaks to my soul. At the end of the day, it always seems to be about the great grappling of mystery and our place in it. The image I hold of letting go is one of a snake shedding its skin; then finding their place in their new skin. Choice and motion, may it be a sweet brew for you, Stacy. Big hugs.