Fatata te Miti (By the Sea) by Paul Gauguin (1892)
Three years ago, I turned my phone off for two weeks and drove through Utah. Gillian Welch was the soundtrack, and my partner was beside me. Only the horizon was up ahead, and “Orphan Girl” played on repeat.
We stopped to hike and camp along the way, taking in the structure and substance of the earth. A teacher of mine once said she felt the geology of herself in Utah — how closely her own bones are linked to dust — and I experienced the same. As I see it, the closer we get to the essential nature of ourselves, the closer we get to truth.
After Utah, I was a different person.
It took some time to untangle, but out in the desert, my mind felt expansive. Its loops slowed down and spread out, recalibrating brain waves and lifting my spirit. My nervous system and shoulders settled down. As the post-travel blues set in, and for the first time, didn’t go away, I began to wonder why that lightness should be limited to one week a year.
Living for vacation seems shortsighted. Could I experience expansiveness of mind, body, and spirit every day?
It’s not that vacation should be eternal; work is obviously a necessity. But I wondered if that feeling of freedom could touch more days than not, if my spirit could stay buoyant even while earning a living.
I’ve been exploring that question for two and a half years, and I don’t always get it right. Sometimes I do, even amidst the stressors of everyday life, and it’s wonderful, and other times, I get trapped in cycles of worry and fear. They aren’t helpful, but they’re human.
Accessing expansiveness every day is like a revolving door. You don’t always know what’s going to work. For me, it’s some combination of writing, yoga, breathing, walking, or meditation. If I’m lucky, the Great Outdoors might make an appearance.
The best part of seeking this feeling regularly is that clearing out the noise — really getting quiet — invites ideas in. It cleared a definitive path towards my inner artist. If I taught a creativity workshop, I would help people get out of their heads and into their body and breath, guiding them deep within. That’s where all the magic is.
Despite the pleasure and luxury — and the privilege — of attempting to live in a way that carries my spirit forward, there have been struggles. Managing two people’s creative careers, often full of unknowns, is hard, and prolonged uncertainty takes a toll on our minds and hearts. Sometimes waiting for answers feels like being in limbo for years at a time.
Pair that with geographical challenges and changes in my support system, and there have been moments that left me feeling like a fish out of water. But like a sad fish with no energy. A fish swimming through a murky tank in Walmart, or maybe one dumped in the wrong pond who can’t figure out how to get back home. Ups and downs are normal, but at times the downs become enveloping.
Like many others, I’ve learned how to muscle through. Forcing myself out to see a friend or go walking or run errands often gives a boost. But a few weeks ago, I grew tired of forcing. As I asked a dear friend, at what point do we resist our cultural conditioning to push through and simply allow ourselves to feel bad?
Just when I wanted to give up, throw in the towel, and call everything pointless, it was time to visit Nashville. A quick trip, planned for a jolt of energy and to see friends, was on the horizon, but I swore I couldn’t go.
I dragged myself to the airport anyway. Cultural conditioning is hard to break.
The trip almost cancelled itself; there was biblical flooding in the South — torrential downpours and tornadoes. I arrived in Tennessee hours late and missed an appointment. In the Atlanta airport, I fantasized about giving up and going right back home.
For whatever reason, I kept going — maybe it was the gentle support of my partner and a dear friend, nudging me onward. The second I stepped foot in that sweet city, our home for a year, I knew I’d done the right thing.
Thanks to the weather, my plans had shifted. I went to see my acupuncturist, noting a new bounce in my step. I considered where to have dinner. I walked to my favorite shop, a haven for tea and herbs. After glancing around for a quiet spot, I settled at their tiny kombucha bar, paper and pen in hand.
Ordering a drink, I began to write. Ideas were already flowing. Soon, I heard a warm voice right behind me.
It sounded familiar but I couldn’t place it. The owner greeted her with a hug, and they talked about movies and Sencha.
I kept writing.
Soon, everyone left the room except for the warm voice and me. She sat down beside me at the bar. I turned, looked into her eyes, and blinked.
She stared at me for a moment, like a fairy godmother whispering, “keep going.” Like a crumpled note, a reminder of desert skies, the universe saying I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. I stared back.
It was Gillian Welch.
I got the message loud and clear.
Between you and me—
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Thank you for sharing this inspiring journey. I had a similar experience in Utah in November 2016 that changed the trajectory of my life too. Looking forward to reading more of your work.
I just! I've been living in this email all week. I'm thirsty for some desert magic, even though I've never been to the desert.