view from cliff dwelling near Santa Fe

I like change. At least, that’s the version of me I find most attractive. Perhaps a more accurate way of putting it is, that I often choose change, despite which, change still can make me extremely uncomfortable.

Examples: At the end of the 80’s I opted to face an uncertain future rather than accept a line of credit from my family which would have put me through college (that is, if I would have chosen to attend classes and get the required grades). Twenty years later I left my first marriage, moved to a new state with my 2-year-old and embarked upon a corporate career – all in the space of 4 months (‘they’ say never to take those life-altering actions more than one at a time). Several years ago when I’d just barely left my job and begun a coaching business I found myself getting over-excited about the remote prospect of my husband’s possible overseas job offer. In 2008 I championed the presidential candidate for change, gave his campaign a big chunk of my hard-earned ‘change’, and cried when we elected and then inaugurated him this January. I’m kind of a tenured practitioner of this thing called change.

So why then, have the last few weeks been so doggone hard?

This summer, after years of my husband’s urging and one good book (Robert Kiyosaki’s Rich Dad, Poor Dad) read over vacation, I agreed we should sell our home of the past seven years and find another, less expensive place that we could lease. We spent the next six months updating and put our house on the market after the holidays. I’m a huge believer in the Law of Attraction – so when my family collectively put our minds to visualizing a wonderful new family enjoying our beautiful home – it wasn’t that big a surprise to me that we got a good offer within three days (economy schmonomy…).

That’s when it got difficult for me; we needed to find a place to live. First we looked at houses over our budget that we hoped to negotiate down. No dice. Then we looked at a development which we liked but the houses were too small. On a couple consecutive rainy days I went with our realtor and tried really hard to find it, the one place that was perfect. But all of the places were too far south, too far north, too boring, too much in a state of disrepair. I came home and started to cry the kind of cry that doesn’t happen often. A bone-rattling, snot-dripping, wave after wave-crashing flood of tears that I thought was over by the time my husband and the kids came home but started up again during dinner. I hadn’t expected that. I’d chosen change. I’d read the book. I’d seen and finally agreed with my husband’s point of view. I thought I was in control.

We did take the house that’s too small. We sold a lot of unnecessary stuff at a yard sale and gave the rest away. Despite my daughter getting the flu and strep on the day of our move, we moved. And we closed. The family moving into our old house is exactly who we pictured, they are lovely and they will be happy there. And it even seems now that we will be happy here. The neighbors are kind and welcoming. The community is thriving and connected. There’s enough room for us in the house and everything is (slowly) finding its’ place.

Last night my back went out. Please understand, my back doesn’t go out. I have a strong back and in recent months I’ve been strengthening it further at my twice weekly workouts – well not this week because my daughter’s been home from school. Last night after I crawled off the toilet onto the floor, feeling a little like Elizabeth Gilbert and praying for assistance, I thought “What the HECK?!?!” It then occurred to me that my mental picture of the way things are and my physical experience of the way things are, are not in sync. “I like change.” “This move is a good decision.” “Everyone is benefitting from this change.” These are all mental constructs that I’m quite good at convincing myself are true. But in my body I do not believe it yet. It’s as if I’m waiting for proof. Louise Hay writes that lower back pain represents fear of lack of support and financial concerns. And that is the less attractive, but true picture of who I have been. The person who worries about everything, who likes to be in control because then she won’t have to trust anyone, the little girl who doesn’t think anyone ever listens to her or cares about her ideas. Yikes, that’s still in there.

Change ain’t easy. But change is good. Through the difficult choices we make, we have the opportunity to witness the ugly under-bellies of our belief systems. Ooooh it can be murky in there! But my back is getting better today and I’m an unrelenting optimist – by choosing to wade through the muck – I, we get to go to new, incredible places, like we never could have imagined or chosen for ourselves.

What about you? Do you like change? What types of places have you followed it to?

And so, a season later – I found myself in Maine in October. Autumn is my favorite time of year in that glorious place, which I have not experienced since leaving it fourteen years ago. I so wish to share every nuance of our adventure, but for blogging purposes, let me briefly tantalize you with…. (I hope you haven’t eaten yet)… warm apple cider, sharp cheddar cheese, fresh home-baked apple pie, peanut-butter fudge, artisanal breads, local organic goat cheese, olives, lush Italian red wine, local amber ale, creamy fish chowder, lobster rolls, handmade linguine with wild Maine mushrooms and radicchio in cream sauce, platter-sized pancakes with tiny sweet Maine blueberries and real maple syrup. I did eat my way through the state! We were surrounded by deep red foliage, brilliant orange, leaves (still on the tree) with bright green centers and flaming edges. We kicked through a field of ankle-deep fallen leaves, the musty earthy smell arising with every kick. There was a co-o-old pond with whitecaps, layers of shirts, sweaters, scarves and windbreakers, a breathtaking vista of the pond from the top of the hill – sitting on a huge granite boulder to take it all in – framed by giant firs, sections of the forest covered in orange pine needles, and the smell of living Christmas.

I hope my virtual slide show has kept you reading… because here comes the golden center of this journey. My friends’ two-and-a-half year-old daughter running, arms outstretched, and catching one of her three orange hens in her arms, over and over again. Meeting her older siblings and realizing that their mom and I were close to that age when we first met. Greeting our girlfriends at the cabin – being all together there. Cooking with and for one another. All of us moms to young children, all of us married to men whom we so love and appreciate – most recently for staying home with our children while we enjoyed our sojourn. All of us recently 40, with the many attendant insights that this threshold has offered. We read tarot cards late into the night, which gave way to sharing our stories, our deeply held wishes and fears for our own lives and the ones we love. There were two wonderful hikes, with exceptional vantage points of the mountains and one another; there were moments of penetrating silence in the company of trusted friends. And the fairy house. The one we jokingly started, and said we would only ever create with our daughters, and then grew quiet as we each found our task, our special gift to the faeries, the woodland creatures, and each other.

This adventure I could not possibly have perfected in my mind’s dreaming. It was such a moment in a life, having presented itself so easily, was embarked upon, and is unfolding more and more, even upon return to my bustling city.

So, was this a taste of the way life should be? Can every day be so perfectly sublime? I do love my home state and all it offers. Perhaps what I value the most is the window it gave me this autumn, into a more valuable and peaceful state of being.