Transitions: Observe. Hold. Release.

         The common chorus is "you're going through so many things at once." You could say that chorus has been playing most of my life, and many times the things have been of my own making or environmental. Growing up in the houses I did, drama often obscured reality. It took me until my 30's to begin to train myself not to find drama familiar and comfortable. The new boundaries required great deal of work, especially since my biological clock was ticking and it resulted in  making a family of my own during that decade, before all my boundaries had set.

        Thirty years later, I'm still refining my tolerance for drama and requiring more peace at every turn. Boundaries are still a work in progress (as my cycles of life change so do my perimeters).  So out of the five (5) biggest stressors in human life ~ 1) Death/Birth of a loved one, 2) Divorce/Marriage, 3) Moving,  4) Major illness or injury, 5) Job loss/Retirement ~ I guess you could argue that I'm experiencing four of them (although it will be 12 years in June,  I might even argue and add Divorce (5th), as it's still a loss that holds space in my being, as there has been no replacement relationship).

        Driving through my original hometown this morning, Bolton, MA, I had an epiphany. All the Buddhist training, Psychological tools, and Meditation modes have lead me back to being the girl running through the woods and looking closely at all the beings that lived there. I used to get very still and just let myself "be" in the woods. This is where I first practiced Being. I learned where various critters lived. How the seasons changed the course of the brooks. The trees had sticky and less sticky seasons. Where the wild asparagus grew. Which crab apples were worth a bite and which would be too bitter. The difference between salamander and frog eggs.  Where the rabbits felt safe. Where bones of wild critters would be easy to find. How the sun and moon lived in different places in the sky in different seasons. To taste rain or snow in the wind before it arrived. And so much more. I was just left to be and observe. That gave me a certain confidence. I'd come home with questions or finds and gradually my mother bought me little Golden Guide books for Insects, Trees, Flowers, Fishes, Sea Shells, Fishing, and Yosemite (copyright 1970, because my first trip ever on an airplane -alone- was to California in '72 at age 10 to visit my best friend who had moved away, so naturally, I had to know about CA critters).

        I now have numerous other guide books to the Natural World in different places on the globe. In Nature I've always felt the ability to let go and Be. As I grew older, in my teens, I often sought drama in the form of adrenaline activating outdoor sports: Skiing (both kinds), running, barrel racing, biking long distances in all weather, playing on the boys soccer team, kayaking in strong currents, hiking, swimming in every kind of natural body of water, diving and salvage diving, snorkeling, free diving, sailing through hurricanes and more. These kinds of outdoor sports forced me to be in the moment, but also to accept the present, to observe it and float through it to the best of your ability.  These were my first experiences in the Practice of Accepting the Present.  What came before or after didn't really matter, doing your best in the moment did. Just Be your best, long before Nike's Just Do It promotion. I also learned a different kind of confidence. Instead of only observing, I was participating, a physical self confidence, and learning the social skills to support a team, too. 

        From the ages seventeen (graduating high school) until I turned twenty (enrolling in college), I lived the in the school of life. Geographically speaking, I lived in Maine, on an island and moved onto a sailboat, which then sailed to St. Croix, where I lived in Christiansted Harbor for nearly a year. Financially speaking, I worked odd jobs associated with the sea/fishing/boats and bartered, while I learned the trade of cabinetmaking and made money at that in Maine, and in St. Croix I briefly made leather sandals and then landed a job building furniture for a new hospital. Emotionally speaking, I first moved away from family and then moved away from friends, other than the man I lived with on the boat. Coming from and belonging to a large, constantly in contact, over-sharing family having no postal address nor telephone for that last year was both liberating and lonely. It forced me Practice Challenging the Stories I told Myself. Especially being out of New England, the only white woman on the job sight, and much younger than the black and hispanic men I was directing on the job. Also I learned to question other peoples stories. The guy dressed as a beach bum at the bar might be a millionaire, while the guy dressed like a millionaire could be broke. The island was full of transient folks: tourists, travelers, expats from various nations, islanders moving up and down up and down the chain for work, and, always, sailors. Even my octopus friend moved, after a frightful encounter with a New Yorker. One of the major currencies of reinvention is the story you tell others. 

        For the next four decades I kept reinventing myself. College Reporter. School Senator. Waitress. House painter. Pre-Nursing student. English Major. Radcliffe Publishing Course attendee. Assistant Publisher for a Magazine. Assistant Literary Agent. Junior Literary Agent.  

President of a Literary Agency (while funding the first three years as a model, bookstore clerk and night manager of a B&B). Wife. Mother. Naturalist for Mass Audubon. Triathlete. Runner. Obstacle Course Racer. ELL/Sped teacher. English teacher. Marathon/Ice Swimmer. Retired, although I plan to work part-time, write, volunteer and travel. Not sure which of those Me's will become a new title of sorts. I Accepted the Life-Long Challenge of Change.

         I can now just Be. The woman who observers. The woman who is a team player. The woman who loves to be in nature alone and to share it with other at times. The woman who loves her kids. The woman who wants to keep learning. The woman who wants to keep challenging the story she tells herself and to make it full of a grit with grace that flows and sings. That is how I want to face my current and future transitions, knowing that nothing is permanent except change and our choices in each moment. Observe, Hold, Release. That is all we can ever really Do. And that is the way of Being I chose now.