Now
2017 was a difficult year. One of the most.
In late 2016, I returned from a transformative year of solo travel with such clarity around a ‘new life’ — one defined by simplicity, creativity, nature, and purpose.
There wasn’t anything earth-shattering about it, but after practicing and seeing this way of life around me, I became convinced these were some key ingredients for a fulfilling life. Unknowingly, the year also gradually uncovered my north star — I came back determined to make my life’s work about raising human consciousness and bringing more compassion and fulfillment to the world. I planned to find somewhere in nature to live the simple life, experiment, learn, be creative, and see where it all went.
“I have lived through much, and now I think I have found what is needed for happiness. A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to have it done to them; then work which one hopes may be of some use; then rest, nature, books, music, love for one’s neighbor — such is my idea of happiness. And then, on top of all that, you for a mate, and children perhaps — what more can the heart of man desire? “ — Leo Tolstoy
So I’d just do what he said ☝ right? ️️
Nope. I did none of that.
Instead, I came back to New York city in the dead of winter and got a job in midtown Manhattan 🌃️. My new-‘new life’ was defined by plans, screens, concrete, and grief.
And strong 💪 dissonance. I so badly wanted to GTFO ASAP from this place that was so antithetical from what I’d envisioned. But I strangely felt such deep fulfillment from supporting and being supported by family while a close relative battled cancer.
So I tried (and failed) and tried (and failed)… and tried… (and failed…) to keep creating this life of simplicity, creativity, nature, and purpose in my new reality.
Attempt #1: I worked 3 days a week so I could spend the rest of the time in creative solitude or in nature once the weather warmed. Instead, I spent it with loved ones sharing special moments.
Attempt #2: As spring arose I finally hit the trails, began a certification program, and started building new communities with a shared purpose, all to begin living out my ‘mantra’ (if you read my last post). Finally!
Instead, I ended up feeling stretched and overwhelmed, losing the very core of what I craved.
Space.
Attempt #3: So I slowed down, and gave myself longgg unstructured periods of solitude to move, draw, write, and be still (thank 🙏 for my hammock & plant filled sanctuary). But it was short-lived, as being with family became more important.
As summer unfolded into fall 🍂 and winter ❄️, and the ups and downs of life kept getting in the way, my attempts became increasingly futile…
…To the point where I began to question whether creating such space even made any sense at all — simplicity, creativity, and nature almost seemed irrelevant now in the face of family and massive new beginnings (read: stumbling upon partnership & building my coaching practice (!)). It’s not like I cared any less about it, it’s just that…
“But then life takes over. It always does. There are so many external forces pulling and pushing. It’s hard to escape who you were and who you’re going to be, not to mention all the people who helped you get here and all the ones who will be with you on your next adventure.” — DONUTS
And talk about some ridiculously sinusoidal ups and downs. Through all the cancer, the re-adjustment, the ‘ikigai’, and the long-distance, tsunami-sized tidal waves of emotions 🌊 🌊 🌊 repeatedly battered and engulfed me. I felt love, fulfillment, grief, and fear in ways I didn’t know were possible.
It was strangely beautiful… to experience the profound range and depth of humanity. But the polarities felt so complicated and confusing.
And exhausting.
Bouncing between the extreme ends of emotion on a daily basis made me feel like a pinball machine that had just overloaded and blown its fuse 😣🔫
Looking back, 2017 was a complete tsunami rollercoaster.
And it’s unlikely to stop anytime soon.
Thankfully, I learned a few things along the way. One in particular I feel compelled to share here.
You see, throughout it all, there was — and continues to be — an indestructible thread of strength to hold onto, able to withstand literally anything.
It’s been hard to find sometimes, but when I do, I realize it’s always here. I don’t actually have to hold onto it.
It’s here. Inside me and all around me.
This moment.
Now.
Right now.
In this moment, now, and only now, is where we live. Where our emotions speak, our thoughts emerge, and our bodies feel. Where our awareness lies. Where we exist. Where I experience that indefinable sense of being me.
And it’s never the same, with this moment dying just as it happens so the next one can be born.
“Nor is it really clear where today — where now — is. As soon as you try to figure it out, it is already gone. Since this is so, you have to wonder whether it was ever really here to begin with, in any hard-and-fast way. Things are always slipping gradually away” — Norman Fischer
It can be eerie and uncomfortable per the above ☝
And liberating.
In this moment, no task is too great, no step too big. Even the biggest ones will be gone in an instant.
There’s a weird ease to it.
Here and now, I have the power and freedom to notice and choose. Who I am being, what I am thinking, what I am doing? Am I cherishing or agonizing over the past (miss you travels), dreaming or worrying about the future (gotta create that ‘new life’ dammit!), lost in execution mode (work work work work work), or present in stillness?
Am I open or closed👇?
Things seem to slow down here.
I notice the air against my skin. The way the sunlight changes on my orchid as I feel each sway of my hammock. The almost invisible change on my grandfather’s face as a mountain of emotion sweeps over him. The unconditional love sparkling in my cousin’s eyes as he watches over his toddler son.
I notice the countless, awe-inspiring details of the bustling life around me. Like the ridiculous formations the birds make while searching for food near my grocery store 🐦. Or all the work that went into making the the buildings stand 🌇 and the subways move 🚇. Or how each person’s face I see is so remarkably different, built on thousands of generations of faces before them.
I notice my own humanity. The quiet motion of my organs working. The rock hard skeleton inside me. The chest-radiating-warmth of love towards my loved ones and my life’s work. The stomach-stabbing-hollowness of grief upon hearing bad news. The throat-constricting-suffocation of stress over what the future will hold. I can feel in a whole new way, and while it can seem overwhelming it doesn’t have to be, because I can rest in the disappearance of now.
I can be with those tsunami-sized tidal waves of emotion, and learn to surf them 🏄 rather than drown in them.
“Rather than indulge or reject our [difficult] experience, we can somehow let the energy of the emotion, the quality of what we’re feeling, pierce us to the heart… It’s definitely the path of compassion — the path of cultivating human bravery and kindheartedness” — Pema Chödrön
And here I was thinking I had to make all these grand changes to live that dreamy life of simplicity, creativity, nature, and purpose… when funnily enough, it’s all right here in this unassuming, ever-present thread of now. In this moment is where nature exists, where creativity emerges, where consciousness, wisdom, and compassion can be strengthened.
And it is SO. DAMN. SIMPLE :)
