Welcome Home to your Self dear Stephanie! As you know last weekend I sat in my garden at 6am, drinking tea and writing a story about the day I die. And one of the best things I learnt from doing so was gaining the understanding that it wasn’t my desire to die in this particular garden but to die in the way of 'being' I was feeling in that moment. To be at peace with myself, to sit with the softest heart I have ever known
Back to you! So when reading this I got to thinking of that path of individuation that so many of us are walking and how letting go of your dream is a symbolic death that makes room for new aspects of your Self to emerge – wisdom born not of attainment, but of inner alignment. Wow! Not failure but transformation as the 'outer dream' is relinquished to uncover the 'inner necessity'.
And then I got to thinking, perhaps it was never about the place, but the fullness of presence, love and meaning that you're bringing to where you are. Indeed, dreams don’t always come true in the way we expect – but as you so rightly affirm, they do their work on us regardless. Thanks so much Stephanie for letting us walk with you through this tender threshold. Because believe or not, you’ve moved! So far, so deeply and with so much beauty and grace. Again, welcome Home my dear friend!
Oh dear Deborah, thank you so much for this. The thought that believe it or not, I have moved. Now that's something to ponder. And this feeds something that feels right and good and true: "...letting go of your dream is a symbolic death that makes room for new aspects of your Self to emerge – wisdom born not of attainment, but of inner alignment."
I so appreciate your words and your deep understanding of the passages that change us, grow us and rebirth us. You are in my heart, with gratitude.
Deborah, I'm intrigued by your idea of writing a story about the day you die & your insight that you are being called to die to the way of 'being' you were feeling. I'm nurturing a deathcare community where I live and I'd love to share this practice with the death doulas and others who are actively companioning people who are facing the end of life. Thank you for inspiring me/us with your writing:)
So much wisdom and peace here, Stephanie. Thank you for your vulnerability and generosity in sharing. I love that you are with the love of your life, and that you realized that early on. I feel full just in reading your post. <3
Your essay has such wise, comforting words. It's true that you can kayak to see nature and make adjustments to make your current location work for you. You are handling the situation of the house not selling, with grace and beauty. I love that Rolling Stones song, and, like you, I find a lot of truth in it.
I think in life there's no perfect location, no perfect anything, for that matter. Acceptance of what might not come true is an opportunity for more growth.
And I am so moved by you saying that when you lived in a cramped place in Colorado, how you could live anywhere with your husband. Such a true testament of love and the beauty of a healthy human relationship.
Your writing always inspires me, dear friend, as does your grace, wisdom, and acceptance.
Beth, your words are so supportive and I will keep them close by today. You know a lot about change and adaptation. The transformative force of grief cannot be under estimated. You are in my heart and I'm grateful to call you friend.
If you ever want to sell your house again, get some information about coming to live in Canada. You will be in a calm and friendly neighborhood. Take care.
I love this gentle grappling with disappointment and acceptance, grief and gratitude. It's so resonant. Thank you for sharing this with such vulnerability.
I love the phrase "gentle grappling." It's quite the emotional soup. I'm grateful for a space that's so accepting, supportive and welcoming of our voices. Big hugs and thank you for your thoughtful comment.
Thank you for opening up the precious treasure of your experience! My mind wandered as I imagined the boxes of "charm" arriving and being restored in your home. I've been through a couple of years of upheaval, and the vision of your boxes brought some of my own to mind. Mine are stashed in our hot garage (I also live in Texas), possibly harboring spiders along with memories and dreams I no longer fit. In many, many ways, I have found what I need, and it's not in those boxes. Thank you.
Accepting that we are where we need to be is often the most difficult task at hand. We dream of another place, another partner, another way of being in the world. Sometimes change won't come until we surrender to fully loving exactly what is. I could not ask to live in a place more perfect than where I find myself, but I must give up the dream of a partner to share it with. We all must cherish what we have and trust that what is less than ideal is for our learning and growth. Sending much love to you.
Thinking about this question, I realize I no longer have dreams. There was a time when I had plenty of them. I believe I have transitioned from living in the future to living in the present with whatever each day brings. Not sure how I feel about that.
Normally, when someone tries to speak to me of the pain of moving, I become two creatures. Outwardly, I offer sympathy. But inside I crack my knuckles and pat them on the head. I’m shaped by a flowing life of state-to-state moves, and endless new houses. Ohhh, I’m so grizzled.
However, this thing is outside my experiences, beyond my ken. Stephanie, I have no idea what you’re going through with what we all call “home.” My sympathy is fresh, and tender. Jeezgawdam, that is a lot of torqued, emotional and spiritual change to drag one’s self through. I’m really sorry this happened.
I hope it’s okay to share my latest death/rebirth.
For me, the death of my imagined self was Grad School. I only speak now of how bombing out of my Master’s program was great for me, and it was. That failure gave me the confidence and resolve to become a writer. But at the time…
I had used up all my favors and overstretched myself in a “look-how-serious-I-am” grand gesture. And I couldn’t hack it, not even close, I was sadly out of my depth. I had invited everyone inside and outside of my head to come watch me drown in a wading pool. I was watching my last, best vision of my future die.
Not true, I know that now. But old me did have to die a pretty big and ugly death, before I could see happiness on my horizon again.
That was Grad School.
So, I see you as this powerful creative force that vectors and guides the folks you care about as you do the whole beacon thing, rocking the focus game. To me, you’re a giant, currently hopping and cursing after a kick in the shins.
That doesn’t change my sadness at your sadness, I can’t claim to understand what you’re going through. But I really do care, and I really do see great things for you after this.
Eric, thank you for your heart-felt, empathic and thoughtful comment. Wisdom often passes through the doors of sorrow, reminding us to ask what it is our soul wants to express through us. It's never a quick answer, more like a process, a slow loosening of grip. To that end, I am grappling with meaning and purpose and stretching. I'm beginning to trust that expansion will follow. I so appreciate your kindness and acknowledgement of the choppy waters. Thank you for sharing your story here. It's never just my story or your story -- it's always "THE" story that continuously births our connection to one another. I'm so grateful that you're in my life; I'm a fan of your writing and your writing life; and the admiration is mutual. Thank you for caring the way that you do. May we continue to write on, as we travel through life. Biggest of hugs.
Relating surrender to trust is a powerful, yet tender gesture. It points me in the way I may choose to go, rather than clinging to what has already transformed. Thank you!
My husband and I live in a small (850 sq ft) home. We love the neighborhood, full of people that work at Syracuse University and are from all over the world. We take care of each other, have several neighborhood gatherings and even have a Community Fridge for those who might need some help putting fresh food on the table. We have a community garden within walking distance. So why am I telling you this? Because we have water issues! Lots and lots of water comes off that old park hill; it pools, it cascades down the garden steps, it fills up the window wells, it runs down the inside basement wall. And recently, I had had enough. We talked about a move and made a pro/con list. There were more things on the pro list than I would have thought. We decided to start looking for a condo. Fast forward a year..............we don't want to move. Deep in our hearts this is the place for us. It has challenges for sure, but it fulfills a sense of belonging that neither one of us has ever had before. It took us a year of struggle, looking at condos, talking with our finance guy, starting the clean-out process to realize.....we want to be here. We hired a 'water expert' and he dug all over the place and put in pipes to move the water around the house and it's working!! (Mostly) What we realized, thankfully not too late, is that we were being called to remain. Remain in place, remain with the problem and see it through, remain and change our thinking, remain and make a new commitment to our neighborhood. Thank you for sharing your heart about your canceled move. It's disorienting to have a clear focus and then switch that focus. It took time for me to settle into the idea we'd remain....but I'm so thankful we have!
Jan, thank you so much for sharing your story in such a thoughtful way. This, especially, spoke to my soul: "Remain in place, remain with the problem and see it through, remain and change our thinking, remain and make a new commitment to our neighborhood."
Though I have moments of relaxing with the decision to stay, I'm still in a kind of grieving and grappling phase, but more and more, I'm trusting the change. Your story is helpful and I am appreciative that you posted it here. Sending you all good wishes and goodwill.
These lines resonated: "I could live anywhere with this man. That kind of love has sustained our 35 years together. It was never about the place. It was always about the life we made within it."
I feel the same way about my husband and thank you for the beautiful way of expressing this.
Lately I've been feeling the itch to leave where I live too - but know that's not feasible right now. Your journey and the path to acceptance in where you are has really given me peace and perspective. Thank you.
I can’t imagine how frustrating it must feel after all the staging, etc. I may be in the middle of a slow dream death but I’ll let you know. In the meantime, perhaps a summer away is in order. Look into the Substack column, A Fabulous Midlife Crisis. She is an Irish woman living in Italy and will soon have B&B lodging and writer’s workshops. Just a suggestion. I don’t personally know her (or get a %) but thought maybe you two should talk. A new dream for now?
I too follow Rosie Meleady and have read her books and wisdom about moving to Italy/midlife crisis. There is a -kind of intersection- there with what you write and have written. Company and wisdom I appreciate as I navigate these years where dreams and plans are made, hatch, happen but so does life otherwise. Currently we are contemplating a move that will more accommodate our aging process but living with the possibility that it may not occur/for a while/ever. So this was a timely read. Thank you.
Yes. And I wonder how many times life takes a turn one way and we wonder why we can't or won't turn with it -- these little cycles of birth and death and rebirth.
Welcome Home to your Self dear Stephanie! As you know last weekend I sat in my garden at 6am, drinking tea and writing a story about the day I die. And one of the best things I learnt from doing so was gaining the understanding that it wasn’t my desire to die in this particular garden but to die in the way of 'being' I was feeling in that moment. To be at peace with myself, to sit with the softest heart I have ever known
Back to you! So when reading this I got to thinking of that path of individuation that so many of us are walking and how letting go of your dream is a symbolic death that makes room for new aspects of your Self to emerge – wisdom born not of attainment, but of inner alignment. Wow! Not failure but transformation as the 'outer dream' is relinquished to uncover the 'inner necessity'.
And then I got to thinking, perhaps it was never about the place, but the fullness of presence, love and meaning that you're bringing to where you are. Indeed, dreams don’t always come true in the way we expect – but as you so rightly affirm, they do their work on us regardless. Thanks so much Stephanie for letting us walk with you through this tender threshold. Because believe or not, you’ve moved! So far, so deeply and with so much beauty and grace. Again, welcome Home my dear friend!
Oh dear Deborah, thank you so much for this. The thought that believe it or not, I have moved. Now that's something to ponder. And this feeds something that feels right and good and true: "...letting go of your dream is a symbolic death that makes room for new aspects of your Self to emerge – wisdom born not of attainment, but of inner alignment."
I so appreciate your words and your deep understanding of the passages that change us, grow us and rebirth us. You are in my heart, with gratitude.
Thank you so much Stephanie for walking beside me. I hope we have a good, long wander together. May it be so. 🙏💖
May it be so!
Deborah, I'm intrigued by your idea of writing a story about the day you die & your insight that you are being called to die to the way of 'being' you were feeling. I'm nurturing a deathcare community where I live and I'd love to share this practice with the death doulas and others who are actively companioning people who are facing the end of life. Thank you for inspiring me/us with your writing:)
So much wisdom and peace here, Stephanie. Thank you for your vulnerability and generosity in sharing. I love that you are with the love of your life, and that you realized that early on. I feel full just in reading your post. <3
Thank you for the encouragement and goodwill, Margo.
This was SUCH a powerful and resonant read for me Stephanie. ❤❤❤
I really appreciated these lines in particular, full of wisdom to lean into and learn from:
"But a perfect state of being? I think that must come from tilling the fields of gratitude, from living right where your are." YES!!!!! ❤
Thanks, Stephanie. I appreciate your goodwill and kindness.
Hi Stephanie,
Your essay has such wise, comforting words. It's true that you can kayak to see nature and make adjustments to make your current location work for you. You are handling the situation of the house not selling, with grace and beauty. I love that Rolling Stones song, and, like you, I find a lot of truth in it.
I think in life there's no perfect location, no perfect anything, for that matter. Acceptance of what might not come true is an opportunity for more growth.
And I am so moved by you saying that when you lived in a cramped place in Colorado, how you could live anywhere with your husband. Such a true testament of love and the beauty of a healthy human relationship.
Your writing always inspires me, dear friend, as does your grace, wisdom, and acceptance.
Beth, your words are so supportive and I will keep them close by today. You know a lot about change and adaptation. The transformative force of grief cannot be under estimated. You are in my heart and I'm grateful to call you friend.
If you ever want to sell your house again, get some information about coming to live in Canada. You will be in a calm and friendly neighborhood. Take care.
Excellent idea. Anyplace in particular in Canada?
I love this gentle grappling with disappointment and acceptance, grief and gratitude. It's so resonant. Thank you for sharing this with such vulnerability.
I love the phrase "gentle grappling." It's quite the emotional soup. I'm grateful for a space that's so accepting, supportive and welcoming of our voices. Big hugs and thank you for your thoughtful comment.
Thank you for opening up the precious treasure of your experience! My mind wandered as I imagined the boxes of "charm" arriving and being restored in your home. I've been through a couple of years of upheaval, and the vision of your boxes brought some of my own to mind. Mine are stashed in our hot garage (I also live in Texas), possibly harboring spiders along with memories and dreams I no longer fit. In many, many ways, I have found what I need, and it's not in those boxes. Thank you.
Laura, I so love this: "...I have found what I need and it's not in those boxes." I will hang onto this in the coming days. Thank you.
Accepting that we are where we need to be is often the most difficult task at hand. We dream of another place, another partner, another way of being in the world. Sometimes change won't come until we surrender to fully loving exactly what is. I could not ask to live in a place more perfect than where I find myself, but I must give up the dream of a partner to share it with. We all must cherish what we have and trust that what is less than ideal is for our learning and growth. Sending much love to you.
Wise and beautiful words, gently spoke, Laurie. Thank you. Sending much love back.
Thinking about this question, I realize I no longer have dreams. There was a time when I had plenty of them. I believe I have transitioned from living in the future to living in the present with whatever each day brings. Not sure how I feel about that.
Thanks for sharing your story, Denise. Big hugs.
Normally, when someone tries to speak to me of the pain of moving, I become two creatures. Outwardly, I offer sympathy. But inside I crack my knuckles and pat them on the head. I’m shaped by a flowing life of state-to-state moves, and endless new houses. Ohhh, I’m so grizzled.
However, this thing is outside my experiences, beyond my ken. Stephanie, I have no idea what you’re going through with what we all call “home.” My sympathy is fresh, and tender. Jeezgawdam, that is a lot of torqued, emotional and spiritual change to drag one’s self through. I’m really sorry this happened.
I hope it’s okay to share my latest death/rebirth.
For me, the death of my imagined self was Grad School. I only speak now of how bombing out of my Master’s program was great for me, and it was. That failure gave me the confidence and resolve to become a writer. But at the time…
I had used up all my favors and overstretched myself in a “look-how-serious-I-am” grand gesture. And I couldn’t hack it, not even close, I was sadly out of my depth. I had invited everyone inside and outside of my head to come watch me drown in a wading pool. I was watching my last, best vision of my future die.
Not true, I know that now. But old me did have to die a pretty big and ugly death, before I could see happiness on my horizon again.
That was Grad School.
So, I see you as this powerful creative force that vectors and guides the folks you care about as you do the whole beacon thing, rocking the focus game. To me, you’re a giant, currently hopping and cursing after a kick in the shins.
That doesn’t change my sadness at your sadness, I can’t claim to understand what you’re going through. But I really do care, and I really do see great things for you after this.
It’s simple, I admire your work.
Eric, thank you for your heart-felt, empathic and thoughtful comment. Wisdom often passes through the doors of sorrow, reminding us to ask what it is our soul wants to express through us. It's never a quick answer, more like a process, a slow loosening of grip. To that end, I am grappling with meaning and purpose and stretching. I'm beginning to trust that expansion will follow. I so appreciate your kindness and acknowledgement of the choppy waters. Thank you for sharing your story here. It's never just my story or your story -- it's always "THE" story that continuously births our connection to one another. I'm so grateful that you're in my life; I'm a fan of your writing and your writing life; and the admiration is mutual. Thank you for caring the way that you do. May we continue to write on, as we travel through life. Biggest of hugs.
Relating surrender to trust is a powerful, yet tender gesture. It points me in the way I may choose to go, rather than clinging to what has already transformed. Thank you!
Laura, here's to being led to exactly where we are supposed to be. Biggest of hugs.
My husband and I live in a small (850 sq ft) home. We love the neighborhood, full of people that work at Syracuse University and are from all over the world. We take care of each other, have several neighborhood gatherings and even have a Community Fridge for those who might need some help putting fresh food on the table. We have a community garden within walking distance. So why am I telling you this? Because we have water issues! Lots and lots of water comes off that old park hill; it pools, it cascades down the garden steps, it fills up the window wells, it runs down the inside basement wall. And recently, I had had enough. We talked about a move and made a pro/con list. There were more things on the pro list than I would have thought. We decided to start looking for a condo. Fast forward a year..............we don't want to move. Deep in our hearts this is the place for us. It has challenges for sure, but it fulfills a sense of belonging that neither one of us has ever had before. It took us a year of struggle, looking at condos, talking with our finance guy, starting the clean-out process to realize.....we want to be here. We hired a 'water expert' and he dug all over the place and put in pipes to move the water around the house and it's working!! (Mostly) What we realized, thankfully not too late, is that we were being called to remain. Remain in place, remain with the problem and see it through, remain and change our thinking, remain and make a new commitment to our neighborhood. Thank you for sharing your heart about your canceled move. It's disorienting to have a clear focus and then switch that focus. It took time for me to settle into the idea we'd remain....but I'm so thankful we have!
Jan, thank you so much for sharing your story in such a thoughtful way. This, especially, spoke to my soul: "Remain in place, remain with the problem and see it through, remain and change our thinking, remain and make a new commitment to our neighborhood."
Though I have moments of relaxing with the decision to stay, I'm still in a kind of grieving and grappling phase, but more and more, I'm trusting the change. Your story is helpful and I am appreciative that you posted it here. Sending you all good wishes and goodwill.
These lines resonated: "I could live anywhere with this man. That kind of love has sustained our 35 years together. It was never about the place. It was always about the life we made within it."
I feel the same way about my husband and thank you for the beautiful way of expressing this.
We are lucky women, Tracy. The bumps and challenges are made easier because of who I live with. I appreciate your comment.
Lately I've been feeling the itch to leave where I live too - but know that's not feasible right now. Your journey and the path to acceptance in where you are has really given me peace and perspective. Thank you.
It always feels good to know that something I wrote changed the way that someone else sees their world. Thank you.
I can’t imagine how frustrating it must feel after all the staging, etc. I may be in the middle of a slow dream death but I’ll let you know. In the meantime, perhaps a summer away is in order. Look into the Substack column, A Fabulous Midlife Crisis. She is an Irish woman living in Italy and will soon have B&B lodging and writer’s workshops. Just a suggestion. I don’t personally know her (or get a %) but thought maybe you two should talk. A new dream for now?
You sweetheart. Thank you. I will look into that Substack. Appreciation.
I too follow Rosie Meleady and have read her books and wisdom about moving to Italy/midlife crisis. There is a -kind of intersection- there with what you write and have written. Company and wisdom I appreciate as I navigate these years where dreams and plans are made, hatch, happen but so does life otherwise. Currently we are contemplating a move that will more accommodate our aging process but living with the possibility that it may not occur/for a while/ever. So this was a timely read. Thank you.
Thank you for seconding A Fabulous Midlife Crisis. Dreams, visions, plans and life happens anyway. The third chapter is such an interesting time.
We are also contemplating a move for aging but “it may not occur/for a while/ever”
Love that phrase
It’s such a strange place to be. In this house 41 years. Not ready yet but at 76 thinking and decluttering as if we might move.
I hear ya. Decluttering is on a lot of lists these days . . . now if I could just get to it! Big hugs, Linda.
Dreams intertwine with identity. Letting go feels like a small death—the surrender of a version of myself I may never get to meet. So now what?
So true! I’m especially struck by the phrase “the surrender of a version of myself I may never get to meet.” Hard to give that up! 🩷
Yes. And I wonder how many times life takes a turn one way and we wonder why we can't or won't turn with it -- these little cycles of birth and death and rebirth.