“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Last night I took a pass on going out with friends. It’s my weekend flying solo. It was an unusual decision for me since I typically have plans sandwiched between Friday and Sunday evenings.
I was tired. A morning spent bathing three dogs, an afternoon shopping at the outlet mall, and a week mentally readying for a huge transition were great contributors to my fatigue.
I was struck by Alan Cumming’s line in the intro, “It’s like trying to grab hold of fog.”
I grabbed my phone, opened up my blog, and jotted that line down. I knew I wanted to write about that line. How does it apply to the program? The two detectives are coming up with leads to no answers as they work to solve a 40-year-old murder. I’m only one episode in and I’m sold.
So, “it’s like trying to grab hold of fog” …
When Cumming said it, I visualized this scene. Waking up. Walking outside. The backyard barely visible. I can’t see the dogs. I can barely see my next step. It’s a disorientating scene. And the whole time I know that it will pass. The fog will clear. Its presence is temporary.
I’ll compare fog’s presence to childbirth. People compare labor to the pain associated with a kidney stone. I’ve experienced both, and the latter when I was pregnant. And I can say that the pain from a kidney stone is worse because you don’t know when it will end. While the labor and pain involved to birth a child is excruciating, it’s necessary. The pain wreaks havoc on a woman’s body so she’s at the edge of sanity, screaming and pushing and doing everything in her power to release the pain. The final release comes with the child. Followed by the encore, with the passing of the placenta. I had no epidural. Every pain was real. But through all of it, I was comforted by the knowledge that the pain would pass. Its “ending was a new beginning” called life, in my case, she is Bridget Ellen.
On mornings when I awake to a front that materializes in the shape of a soupy fog, so thick that the weather gods tease me with the prospect of its permanence, I know that life is in a transition. That just like in human life, the weather has its own muck to work through to get to the idyllic day that we celebrate and tuck in our mental photo album. Spring and Fall are the bookends of the seasons of green and white, whose contrast makes us humans go outward and inward.
In January, I acknowledged the fog. At which time, I asked God for the right opportunity to present itself within 90 days. If it didn’t, I would list the house for sale by April 30. On April 16, the fog lifted. I accepted the opportunity that I prayed was the “right opportunity” just ten days earlier when I wrote: “She wanted today to be both an ending and a beginning“.
Accepting the job offer filled last week with excitement and anxiety, confidence and fear, plans and lists, schedules and highlighters, ups and downs, and a lot of gratitude. I had coffee with my friends Karin and Jeff Friday morning. I shared my 90-day wish for the “right opportunity” to appear to which Jeff expressed surprise and doubt about me telling the universe what I wanted. I responded with something like this. “Yes, I believe that when you put your intention out there, you declare to the world what you want, and you invite the world to support you.” I used to say to members of a large team that managed, I can’t solve the problem if you don’t tell me it exists. I believe the universe can’t respond in-kind if we don’t queue it up.
This fog was a punk that hung around from January through April. Like labor pains, it finally passed. It pained me to be myself, just like Emerson wrote. When the “right opportunity” appeared, I didn’t sweat, I didn’t need to, because I was me. I found peace and confidence in my truth.
Mid-week I sent out a dozen thank you notes, to friends and family who have helped me find my footing through this fog. And now, this Sunday morning, I thank the universe, and everyone in it, including you for listening, commenting, reading, following, liking and supporting me as the fog dissipated.
When Cumming made the comment about the fog last night, he did not mean that grabbing the fog is an exercise in futility. No, it is an exercise of strength and faith. When we acknowledge it, live with it, work through it and finally grab it, we signal to the world that the fog is real. When it lifts, it’s time to move on.
Tomorrow a brave new adventure awaits.