This whole year I have felt the inner call to go towards what feels light. My new year began with the word ‘light’ on my mind and in my heart. I was done with the heavy, the hard slog to get through things, the heavy heart of things disappointing, all of it. 2017 was my year of light. As someone who doesn’t make ‘Resolutions’, this was the closest I was going to get and it felt right. It’s since been my reminder when I check in and wonder why something’s not working to its fullest potential. The answer has consistently come back as “because something about this feels heavy.” So I realign my course, find where the lightness is and carry through. It’s not always easy, when sometimes it involves that letting go or readjusting again just when I thought I had my shit sorted, but it’s worked consistently. I trust this.
Throughout this, a deeper lesson was beginning to emerge. Sometimes what feels light to me needs outside cooperation for it to work. Whether it’s a matter of how it feels to anyone else involved in what this particular lightness of mine entails, or a matter of it being light for only a little while, until I follow it through to a point where it has served its purpose. This lesson is a little more challenging than I expected. Actually… It’s just fucking hard at times (sorry Dad). It’s only natural when you feel something so consistently light, to build up your trust in that consistency and the synchronicities surrounding it, to then feel hope that you may just get to experience this as a major part of your life, and not just one of those passing moments. I wouldn’t blame or judge anyone for allowing themselves to feel the hope that comes along with that. It’s only natural, and it begs the question that if we can’t allow ourselves to hope, then what’s the point? So then, when the lightness seems to take you in deep, and then it shuts down leaving you in what feels like the very, very dark without your precious light that brought you here, what do you do?
The million dollar question. What now? When all that was light brought you here but now something has gone awry to how you thought it should be. It’s turned heavy. A heaviness that didn’t exist before and gave no prior warning of it creeping up, since you were so busy enjoying the light. This thing that was light is now heavy. You find yourself repeating it over to yourself a few times, trying to make sense of it. Where did the light go? Why did it bring you here with such consistency and joy if it was only going to turn around and give you that big red light that says ‘STOP’? We spend a lot of our energy and resources on making the things that we want happen: getting through another day at the job that now drains you because you know behind the scenes you’re working towards your new reality; spending those nights, and days, and mornings, and all the in between times writing that book, not having a clue how to hit the necessary word count so cutting the task down to more approachable, bite-sized pieces and just trusting the journey of the effort; that relationship, that is met so equally and feels so damn good with this other human but is stalled due to whatever legitimate or otherwise reason, so you spend that time building your trust and patience muscles, knowing you only have your gut to go on and it’s leading you somewhere.
All of these things involve what Elizabeth Gilbert calls “the shit sandwich” of a dream (Big Magic). The concept being that there is always a downside, a something that you have to deal with in order to achieve it – whether it’s admin work for a job or project that you’re loving, the sacrificed time spent writing, the distance between you and someone you hold dear. With the shit sandwich in any scenario, it’s a balance between feeling into what feels light, moving away from what feels heavy, and being aware and ok with the shit sandwich of this path you have chosen (if you are in fact choosing this, shit sandwich and all).
So this light leads me to this place and, like the trusting, practicing-patience, ever hopeful woman I am, I believe the consistency of the light automatically means it will all continue to be like this, for as long as I want it. Except sometimes it seems to be only for a time. Does this mean that I can’t trust my inner knowing, that shows up so beautifully and warmly? Does this mean I shouldn’t allow for patience to exist in the receiving the things I dream of? The things that just feel right? A big call, considering I practically base my entire life on the importance of understanding and allowing delayed gratification in order to see things through.
I have a thought though, in amongst all of this. While I believe it’s totally natural to feel hope for this consistency, what if we found a way to feel hope but to rely on the light more than the thing the light is shining on? Easier said than done, totally. But… What if? Would that make it easier for us to navigate the twists and turns? Or would we find ourselves in a hopelessness epidemic, cynical about the idea of even following guidance since we “can’t trust” that it will all work out how our hope wants it to anyway. That sounds like a pretty miserable existence to me… And there’s enough hope alive in me to feel that the bigger picture is there, still shiny and bright. We just have to allow ourselves to navigate the ‘now’, the smaller details, as best we can, with the knowledge that it may not all stay unicorns and rainbows but as long as there is some light, all hope is not lost.
