It felt important that I keep my eyes and heart trained on the present out west. Our opportunities to watch life’s mysteries unfold in real time are so rare. I listened to the call—first to get myself there, then to pour my attention into every person, every trail, every star that crossed my path. I find that when I pay attention—exquisite, wholehearted, embodied attention, uninterrupted by apps or some unforgiving, mind-colonizing technological churn—the gifts just start to multiply. It may be that more appear, or it may be that I am free to notice what was already there. It doesn’t matter.
When we step onto the path that’s meant for us, gifts have a way of showing up. It’s like a video game wherein the protagonist (is that what you’d call her in a video game?), cute soundtrack and all, receives help and little pouches of gold simply for taking the next right step. For being brave enough to take the next right step. I am not saying that I’m brave. I am saying that I’m trying to be.
Now that I am beginning to look back on what we’ve experienced, I can see the potential of the person who stargazes every night, the person who calls all the guitar shops in town because she has to sing right here, right now, or the person who gets invitations to people’s homes the next state over just because she’s open to a conversation. That person, I am continually learning, is available to me now, no matter where I am. That person is me.
The trick, and this is where it can get confusing, is to set her free over and over again. Meditating every morning over the Rio Grande in Taos for a while helped. An honor and privilege, to do that. Soaking up the colors and textures of the desert always gets me closer, which is why I keep going back. But I want to be in touch with that person no matter where I’m living, no matter what circumstances besiege my life, and no matter how uninspired I might feel on any given Tuesday morning.
Despite all the beauty out west, the wonders I’ve witnessed in shape and form and essence, it is clear that living the fullness of life requires giving up other comforts, other certainties, other forms of security, and jumping into the void.
I jumped, for example, when I quit my tech job in 2017, and again when I left my adorable family to study healing modalities in New York. John and I have leapt together more times than I can count. He abandoned a stable, promising career path—where he is trusted and leaned upon to this day—to take a one-year conducting position in Nashville that came with no promises on the other side. We moved to Nashville together, and for all the highs, we would be lying if we said there were no lows.
These leaps of faith, no matter how fun and glamorous they may appear on the outside, usually come with no small amount of anxiety and handwringing. In a word: discomfort. The universe—or whatever you like to call that divine, mysterious, creative life force within us all—often takes its time to reveal what is meant for you. In the meantime, you are likely to find yourself paralyzed by doubt more often than you’d like and worried about everything from finances to premature grey hair.
My luck is astounding, because I have a partner on this journey—someone whose creative and spiritual purpose is clearly intertwined with mine. Neither of us would be where we are without the other as inspiration and support. This offers a safety net; if I stop believing in the choices we’ve made on some uninspired Tuesday morning, John can step in to remind me of all the stars that have aligned over time to get us where we are.
And let me tell you. There have been moments—not one, but many—where the stars aligned at the last possible second, in eerily perfect configuration, to save us from some hiccup or downfall. It takes our breath away. So we keep going.
The changes we’ve made in our lives over the past five years felt monumental. They were pivotal turning points, to be sure, but I am starting to open my mind to a more difficult, yet promising truth: That living our creative potential—put another way, the fullness of life—requires rubbing against discomfort more often than not.
As John and I consider our next moves—geographically, spiritually, artistically, all of it—it is clear that even as the joy and beauty in our lives exceed what we hoped for, we will have to keep giving things up in order to grow. We may have to sacrifice parts of our lives that have served us well, because it creates space for incoming good. As a gardener carves out space among weeds for roses to grow, we must carve out room in our lives for unseen blessings to arrive.
Like most creatures, I crave comfort and security, and I dread those departures. But to quote one of the only Bible verses from my evangelical childhood that still appeals, I must remember that “more than all I ask or imagine,” a life more wondrous and generative than I thought possible, is waiting on the other side.
Sometimes a giant leap—taken in faith, naïveté, mystery, hope—is the only way forward. I have taken a few but they just keep coming.
Between you and me—
Before working as an indie bookseller, I did not understand the power of pre-ordering books. Pre-orders are very important for authors, especially debut authors. They signal interest to the publisher, which can bring a whole host of good. Plus, after pre-ordering a book, you inevitably lose track of time and forget it’s supposed to arrive, and then it feels like an unexpected present in the mail. A present from your past self! Nothing better.
Kirthana Ramisetti, friend and supporter of WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE, has her first novel coming out on November 30th. I pre-ordered it this week and cannot wait for it to appear on my doorstep. Check out Dava Shastri’s Last Day and consider pre-ordering it this weekend—we can read it together this fall.
While we’re on the topic of books, I recently read Laurie Colwin’s Home Cooking and recommend it to anyone who enjoys warm, inviting prose inspired by food—its preparation, sharing, and enjoyment. In a word, its magic. Think Ruth Reichl, but without magazine stories, or Deb Perelman, but focused on storytelling over recipes. (Don’t worry, you’ll get some of those, too.) If you want to feel like someone has gathered you into their arms, sat you at their table, and let you into their delicious world, give it a try.
If it feels like I’ve been avoiding current events, it’s because—in a sense—I have. It is always essential to my wellbeing and creative practice that I manage my intake of news, but recently I needed a break from the frustration of watching politicians choose power and profit over people and planet. Will someone tell them money is made up and not worth letting our sacred home burn? More on this later.
Finally, and most importantly, happy October.
WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is written by Lauren Maxwell. If you enjoy this newsletter, please consider supporting it by becoming a sponsor. You can also click the heart, share online, or forward to a friend. It all helps!
Thank you, thank you, from someone currently in one of those paralyzing and uncomfortable in-between spaces.
Really needed a lot of these paragraphs. I keep saying this, but, favorite post yet. Thank you. <3