Jumping from the nest

A little over nine hours of sleep last night. It was glorious, though I’m still tired. I could continue to sleep—or, at least, lie in bed—for another hour or so. But, I like my hour of solitude in the morning. (Plus, I really had to pee.) Right now, sitting at the kitchen table, coffee on, warmth enveloping me. The other side of the house, where our offices are—really, they’re just bedrooms where we put our desks—are colder than this side where the living room and kitchen are located. The kitchen used to be my favorite room in the winter but now it feels more like C’s, only because this is where C writes in the morning, listens to Jay Shetty, has decorated the walls. I love this room more now than when it was mine, love it more now that it is a shared space. But, I also love when I have it all to myself for a few minutes, an hour.

In this relationship, I have forgotten how much solitude I truly need. It is easy to be around C. It is a gentle space. No structures, no requirements. It’s quite lovely. Yet, I find I come alive in my solitude. I am able to see more clearly. Because of my sensitivity to the world, making decisions for the benefit of the family, I often lose sight of what I need or feel. I lose myself in the swirling of us. I tend to downplay what I want if it is conflict with what my partner wants. But, here alone at this table, in my solitude, I have permission to do and feel for myself and myself only.

In a little less than two weeks, I will have nothing but solitude—well, not entirely true. I will be here at home, watching the dogs, caring for the goats. C is going on a trip. It was a planned trip but a necessary trip for us. We’ve hit a rough patch and after our in-depth discussion on Saturday, we both agreed we would practice love and kindness to each other until that trip. And then we can both think deeply, look at what we have, what we want, what we’ll gain, what we’ll lose if we decide to split, to go our separate ways. We are two emotionally mature adults—even if this blog gives an opposing impression—and should we decide to move on from each other, it will be civil and calm. I will be heartbroken, for sure, and I will cry tears enough for the both of us. But I will also feel liberated.

This is what I find tremendous about humans; well, one of many things. We can hold juxtaposing thoughts at once and both wish neither things to happen or both of them to happen. We are such complex creatures. I don’t want to shy away from that complexity, from the full breadth of what it means to be human. I want to experience it all: the love and joy, the sadness and pain, the mediocre and exciting. Pema Chödrön, that wonderful Buddhist nun, said, “To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest.” This is what I crave. This is where the meat and marrow of life is. I want to suck on it whole, eat it entirely, make it part of me.

Another quote that has stuck with me over the years is one by Teresa Carey, a sailor and journalist among other things. She said, “We are led to believe that security, comfort, and stability is a good life. But I think it’s hazardous to our character and our spirit.” The experiences of my life support and agree with this statement. The times that I find most memorable and soul-shaping are the times that were hard, difficult, that tested me. I live a life of comfort and ease right now; life is good. I do not worry or want for much of anything. I have been lucky¹. But this life now does not make for a good story. I have a history of hardship, both foisted upon me and of my own making (I may or may not share, I don’t know). But, for now, this life is too clean. Why do I have this yearning to dirty it up?

Footnotes

1. I know how incredibly privileged this all sounds. And I do not take it for granted. ↩