The unusual run for the horizon to see what I can see took me to Victoria. Why Victoria? First of all, I have had the most disciplined, locked down, repetitive existence imaginable since 2016 when I travelled to Los Angeles for the Airbnb Open Conference.
My monastic, quiet and focused existence was centered around paying down my debt. That goal has been achieved and now I lift my head to see what lies beyond the island of protection that I have made my home.
Where I am now
“What next?” I simply don’t know. And like all people who have the gift of obsession, I feel adrift in a rubber life raft with no land in sight, no goal shoreline to row toward.
And so I tricked myself by saying to self, “You like gardens. Go to Butchart.”
It worked. I was able to push through a construct of the walls of possibility I had built around me to buy tickets and get two airbnb stays in Victoria. That in itself was an achievement. I blocked off days in my own business so that I could be free of myself.
The small plane lifted me up and transported me. I decided to not react to the take off and landing. Usually, I feel dread, my heart rate increases and I help the plane in its transition by not daring to breathe. This time I made the choice to keep my breathing even and allow the knowing that I am protected to wrap around me. I would not be the same self, I promised.
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There arose in me such a feeling of no self that it kept me company. I was observer. I was one who did not demand anything. A place would manifest its presence with a sign over a door and I would go in. Every day I sat in Murchies drinking tea and watching people.
Frequently, I feel like a cultural anthropologist. Who are these people? How do they live? How do they relate to one another? What is this particular tribe enacting as a social ritual? I saw groups following unspoken guidelines for behavior. A couple sat with the girl constantly stroking her boy friend. She leaned into him, on him, demanding that he not abandon her. I saw older couples married for eons who automatically behaved as a team. He got the tray, he picked out the table. Or in another case she got the tray, she picked out the table. Even one couple where she moved from table to table until she found the perfect one and he trailed along behind with the tray. All of the small decisions defining the reality that people create were observable. The rituals have results.
What I found with the observing of myself is that I need to begin again. I need to find methods of growing more gently and with more support. I picked up the book A Tribe Called Bliss by Lori Harder and read it every day on my hiatus.
Other women… other women who are observing their lives without locking into the old washing machine swirling around and around of the same old stories could help me. Other women who are focused on becoming multi-dimensional and breaking away from pre scripted lives could make me stronger.
When I returned to Kelowna, I unpacked. I loaded in the laundry and let the soiled clothing of my trip spin themselves to freshness. I swept the thousand seeds from the Maple tree off of my deck. And I mowed the ankle deep lawn. As I went about these actions, I observed that this repetition is necessary and creates order. But I also understood that I need to make room for bigger goals, bigger dreams.
I fell asleep realizing that the disruption was absolutely necessary. I had to see who I was removed from the reality I had created from my repetitive rituals these last three years. There needs to be a starting line drawn in a life. I begin.