It's That Time Of Year
It's That Time Of Year Helaine Iris (c) 2004 "The man who
removes a mountain begins by carrying away small stones."
William Faulkner
It's that time again, almost February. Deep winter in New
England. Not only is it bitter cold and everything's covered in
ice and snow, we're still months away from spring. Although the
calendar says it's spring at the end of March, if you live in
New England you know spring doesn't reliably show up until May.
Ok, late April if we're lucky. Anyway, in addition to my obvious
struggle with the climactic reality there's another factor that
make this time of year particularly significant for me. My
husband leaves for a three-week vacation/vision quest (alone) to
the southwest. Every year for the past 16 years he packs up his
truck, decked out for camping and drives off on what he calls a
pilgrimage.
It's a time to reconnect with himself, the earth and his reason
for being. He finds his way into the Utah desert, forty miles
from civilization, with just enough food to keep him alive.
There he sits, hikes and finds himself amongst the staggeringly
gorgeous landscape of vivid color and isolation. Although I
truly admire and support him in his desire to make this annual
trip, it's a challenging dance for me. In addition to missing
him, I'm left to shovel snow, keep the wood box filled, stoke
the woodstove, and single parent in addition to my existing
routine and full life. It throws me into a vision quest of my
own. A quest that although begrudgingly at the start winds up
reminding me of who I am and what my purpose for being is. What
still amazes me is the amount of resistance I have to this
period of time. Even though my experience tells me I will end up
enjoying the solo time; I still dread the day he leaves. So,
what's really operating here? First, I notice that transitions
are hard for me, making a shift from one state to another from
daily engagement with husband to independence. Second, I get
lost in the anticipated story about what a pain it is to do
"all" the work myself. I start to feel left behind and sorry for
myself. Third, I wonder what in the world I'm going to do to
entertain myself during the time we usually spend together. The
mental energy it takes to consider and worry about all these
things is considerable, no wonder I dread this time. What life
situation are you resisting or dreading? Here's how I've learned
to work with this and other opportunities that challenge my
comfort zone. (It's only taken me 16 years): 1. I slow my
thoughts WAY down. I invite all the petty and worrisome thoughts
to come to the surface to be heard. I do my best not to judge
them, I simply notice them. 2. I inquire into my beliefs to find
truth and disqualify the beliefs or stories that turn out to be
false. 3. Then, I make a list of all the things I enjoy, look
forward to, or seldom have a chance to experience. Then, I and
go into action. I ask for help with the tasks I need help with.
I remind my friends I'm extra available for outings. By the time
I get through step three I'm energized and looking forward to my
time alone. Even though I still feel sad the day he pulls away,
I can be with all of my feelings and know I'm fine. My deep
winter alone time has become a period for me to remember my
strength, find companionship and enjoyment with myself, and
reprioritize what's important to me. It's become a welcome time
of reflection, reevaluation and reemersion with my own best
friend, me. It's YOUR life...imagine the possibilities!