Fear of change is normal
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A quote to start us off this Sunday.
“Things change. And friends leave. Life doesn't stop for anybody.” ~ Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
It’s Easter Sunday for those that are celebrating I wish you a happy spring-filled day with your family. I hope you’re eating deviled eggs. Those are my favorite. And peeps. I could eat peeps every day of the year.
Easter is a celebration of new life with Pagan origins connected to the Goddess, Eostre. The flowers and eggs are obvious symbols of fertility. And we all know that rabbits love sex. It’s funny to watch the cottontails’ mating rituals in the desert. The males hop about with exuberant heights in an effort to impress the females. The male quails and desert iguanas are also running around showing off their best muscles or feathers. The females act aloof or just straight-up run away from them. So relatable.
I am in a moment of blossoming and transitioning myself. Dying to my old life in order to be born again. And again and again.
I’ve sold my desert home. You, my dear readers, are the first to know. Well besides for my family and a few friends and my employer of course. But I wanted to share this massive life change with you.
There was a time when I thought I would grow old in the desert. That I would be a desert lady for life. My skin thick from the harsh sun and strong winds throwing dust at my face and body. My hair wild like the creosote. I wanted to disappear here, and I did. I moved here at the very top of a global pandemic. The world shutting down around me as I sunk into my quiet solitude. Gratitude is not even a big enough word to describe how blessed I felt and continue to feel for this desert life.
In all this solitude and wide-open spaces, I overlooked the loneliness until I couldn’t anymore. Until lonely was all that I saw. I visited a friend a while back and as we sat on her couch and laughed like we do my insides were shouting, “Please hug me.” I need a hug, I need a hand, I need a person. A kind of loneliness so deep it could only be cured by melting into another person completely.
I wanted to tell her and I didn’t. I didn’t because I’m strong. I’m so strong. Just look at me out here alone, doing all the things by myself. A single woman homeowner alone in the desert. I’ve got this, I’ve got this, I’m doing it, I’m fine.
I don’t got this.
I miss my family. I haven’t lived near my sister or my Dad or my many cousins and childhood friends for twenty years.
I miss walking to coffee shops. Walking to anything.
Change is something I embrace. It’s a garment I wear like a sundress. Soft and flowy and sweet. I’m ready for the next adventure. I’m ready to buy a Subaru and paste co-exist stickers to the bumper and learn to hike in the rain and in the snow. I remember lakes from when I was a kid and how much I loved to swim. I want to camp in the mountains and forests of the Northwest. I want to try on a new me.
I will miss the desert sunrise. The coo of the doves in the morning. I will miss the relationships with so many wonderful like-minded folks seeking something only the harsh expanse of the high desert can give. I hope they find it. I hope they’ve found it. I hope they won’t be afraid to let it go when they are ready.
I saw a meme yesterday that said, “Manifesting isn’t dreaming and wishing. Manifesting is deciding and acting.”
We stay stuck when we don’t act. When we can’t decide. The universe loves when we make a choice. It loves direction.
I wish for you on this life-giving morning of hope and change that you make decisions and act on them for the good of your dreams and goals, even when it hurts. Even when it’s hard.
Like Glennon Doyle loves to say, “We can do hard things.”
Amen
As always, thanks for reading.
Tune in next Sunday for Chapter 7. The Fish House from my debut novel, To All the Jobs I’ve Had Before.
xo Jade