I was taking a morning walk today when the words “quiet opposition” gently rolled through my mind. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the changing landscape in our country–both politically and socially–and how much I have personally changed.
There was a time I would march in the streets, attend rallies, or post and comment on social media about what I saw as societal or political dangers, but in the past few years I’ve becoming increasingly less vocal in my opposition of such things.
It appears I’ve entered into an era of what I think might best be called quiet opposition.
And when those words swept through my mind this morning, it was a gentle bolt of awakening. A-ha! This is what I am experiencing. And this, too, may be what is happening out there in the world. In our country. Perhaps I am not alone in this shift…
Don’t get me wrong, there is a time and place for loud opposition. For boots on streets, clever signs, knocking on doors, blowing whistles (both figuratively and literally)–but there is also a time to be quiet.
We don’t always need to be loud in our opposition. Loudness can often add fuel to the fire and work against you. Sometimes, and for now, this is where I’m at… Sometimes, it is better to just make small actions in your own life and to reflect on what is happening and how we got here. Sometimes, we need to be quiet.
Being quiet doesn’t mean disengaging entirely. It can mean making small, meaningful change in your world. In your sphere. Where you can. In the small corner of your world where you can make a big difference: within yourself, and then maybe in your family, and those in your community.
I’ve been quietly working to create a community of friends here in my small town. Ever-so-slowly finding my safe spaces of like-minded people, or open-hearted (and greatly different minded people), that I can lean into and explore the issues that are tugging at me.
And things I see as “societal ills” I am working on at home. Making adjustments in the way I live and the lifestyle of my family.
Things like quitting social media (except LinkedIn), becoming a CSA (community supported agriculture) member, donating more money to the organizations that align with my values, making time and space to support my local friends as best I can, daily journaling, long walks, and writing “get out the vote” postcards to encourage more people to vote in the upcoming elections.
And then enjoying my life, being grateful for my freedom, and keeping myself calm and steady in what can feel like a storm swirling around me.
I will not be sucked in. Or at least, I will do my best, to ground myself in quiet opposition to the pull of doomsday thinking and black-and-white arguments.
Wishing you all a peaceful week and wondering if anyone else out there, is being pulled to be quiet?
It’s such a time warp to reread my past blog posts. There have been times I post with great frequency, and other times (the majority of the time) that I write sparingly.
I have grand aspirations of writing a book one day or even posting here more regularly, but somehow life always gets in the way. Or I stand in the way. Or other things grab at my attention…
In January of last year, I quit my job. It’s been a bit of a bumpy transition finding a new groove. My daughter was three years old at the time and every day was, and continues to be, an exhausting and beautiful adventure.
But I’ve also experienced an internal push-and-pull as I figure out who I am as a mother, how I fit into New Jersey culture, and what the heck is happening in our ever-changing world and country. It’s all a lot to process, but at least I have a bit more time to process and reflect these days.
And with that, comes the ability to make some changes. I have made a few.
I’d be curious to know how others are feeling, but it’s harder to tell now, since I decided in January of this year (what is it about January?) to quit social media. Well, almost. I have a lingering LinkedIn account in case I choose to return to a more traditional job, but I permanently deleted my Instagram and Facebook accounts. It was thrilling, but also sad.
I am free of all the social media influencers, the corporate ads, the weird algorithms, and misinformation, but I also don’t see my friends kids growing up or what events are happening in my town. So many businesses post the majority of their updates on social media, I’m now a further step removed from the movers-and-shakers in my area.
But, I’m happy to report, I am reading novels again (not just the self help books I was reading for the past decade), and happily enjoying my printed and digital copies of NY Times, New Yorker, and The Economist. Life still feels crazy and weird and surreal, but it’s a bit smoother as I am returning to a more reliable narrator and well-crafted article or essay.
Although I do miss those baby pics, vacation ideas, and seeing people I knew once upon a time, that I likely will not see or speak to again… We are now having a long overdue and quiet goodbye, as who knows if they’ve even noticed my absence. Social media is so strange like that.
There are a handful of friends I am texting and calling more frequently and for that I am grateful. And I am starting to journal again, however sparse, even adding in printed pictures from a mini printer I bought that syncs to my phone. It’s not the same as Instagram, but I’m enjoying it and hope it will be a nice keepsake for my daughter and stepsons one day.
Forgive me for the meandering post, but I’m out of practice… and give fewer f*cks these days about how I or my writing is perceived.
I am also drinking less alcohol, working out more (though not a lot), cooking healthy meals again, signed up for a CSA (looking forward to more greens and reliable eggs on the shelves), and making more friends. These are some simple, but solid steps to making every day a bit brighter in these winter months and weird political times. I can’t even go there today. Not ready to dive into that mess quite yet—yeesh.
Anyway, I wanted to connect again. To share a tiny update about me and my life. And to see how you, my friends, family, and other unknown readers are doing. Do tell! Do drop me a note in the comments, or send a text or email if you feel so inspired.
We all need to connect more with our loved ones. It’s important to share our stories and hear how everyone else is doing out there. So, hello again! Let’s chat.
Yours truly,
Erin Terese
P.S. Here’s a fun pic of a wild rooster wandering the streets of Key West. Something about all those wild chickens roaming the island just made me smile!
One of the more surprising things I’ve noticed since I left my job four months ago is the amount of emotional processing I’ve done. After four years of constant growth and change (one might even say upheaval) at home and at work, there’s been a lot to unpack and examine.
I’ve always been someone who spends a lot of time in my head. Before having kids, one of my greatest indulgences was long walks to think and contemplate—and sometimes cry. It’s something that has kept me grounded, allowed me to dream and plan, and also to explore new ventures or concepts in my mind. An amateur philosopher at heart, I’m happiest when I can explore and make meaning of life, whether it’s writing, reading, conversing, or out exploring in the world.
There were a million reasons I stopped working, but at the end of the day, we could financially afford it and my soul felt a little like it was drowning when I couldn’t indulge that aspect of myself.
And that’s the thing I am learning right now.
What felt like a hobby or a passion or just something I enjoyed, was actually my lifeblood. And when I moved away from the friends and coworkers I had spent countless hours contemplating life and technologies with, I started to feel lost.
During a time that should have been my happiest, and often has been, what I really needed was time to think. To write. To muse. To create.
I could no longer tolerate the hamster wheel of corporate America that I was on… I needed space to hear myself think again.
What a blessing it’s been to have my brain slowly rewire to be more calm, more connected, and yes, more attuned to my emotions. I knew I needed to quit. And the biggest and loudest reasons to leave made sense, but the quietest whisper that pushed it all to an end was me calling myself back home.
And now I am figuring out how to spend my days and what to prioritize. I’m making new friends and volunteering doing stream bank restoration (and learning more about native and invasive plants than I’d ever imagined). I’m more patient and present with my kids. And I’m spending a lot of time confronting the feminist ideas I’ve held, unpacking how capitalism and patriarchy are woven into our society and beliefs, and learning how to trust where my inner voice is guiding me.
It’s really a trip.
I’m getting closer to focusing in on a project that I’m really excited to kick off, but it’s not time yet. I still have more processing to do. More feeling and listening and connecting to my body.
I imagine this is a common tale right now—that millions of people are starting to finally take a breath and a beat after we were thrust into a new way of living in the pandemic and post-pandemic world.
In an ideal world, we would take time to rest and reset after a heartbreak or death or job loss before we dive into another chapter, but life doesn’t always afford us that time—and when it does, we often ignore it.
But there’s a lot of magic and healing that happens in the cocoon stage. It’s not something you should rush through or past. It’s something you should experience and be wholly present for.
So, this is where I am. The cocoon stage. With “more to come” but also, for the first time in a long time, I’m not rushing things.
A lot has changed since early 2020. Everyone was impacted by the global pandemic—some in small ways, some in large. For me, it changed everything.
One week into the shelter-in-place mandate, my boyfriend at-the-time drove to Boston and picked me up so we could shelter-in-place together at his home in Northern New Jersey. His ex-wife had insisted the kids stay with her instead of shuttling them back and forth between their houses, so we seized the opportunity to shelter together and ride out the COVID storm at his house.
We talked about it at length and thought it made a lot of sense. Risky, of course, but it was good for us both. It was a scary time and it would give us both someone to talk to, hug, and walk with—and the added bonus of more time together to see if our long-distance relationship had legs.
Looking back, it was such a bizarre time. The world as we knew it was crumbling and we were in our little love bubble. Everyday he would drive to his ex-wife’s house to work from her basement and help the kids with their Zoom classes—and every night he’d return home and we would cook delicious meals, snuggle on the couch to watch the news and the rising death toll, then get a good night sleep so we could get up early for a homemade latte and morning walk, before we’d do it all over again.
We did this for weeks on repeat. A morning walk, part ways to work for the day, then come together at night for dinner, wine, news, and snuggles. The world was melting and people were dying and our love was blooming as it all came crashing down.
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. And we were budding a new life, together.
On the weekends, we’d visit his two sons at his ex’s house to play games, have a meal, and chat about everything going on in the world. Under ordinary circumstances, we wouldn’t be hanging out at her house and I wouldn’t be helping her cook dinner—but these were no ordinary times. We all felt the change taking place. We all felt the uncertainty. And we all benefitted from being together.
After a few months, we realized life would not be returning to pre-pandemic times for a very long time. And so, we had to make some pretty big decisions. Should I return to my apartment in Boston? Should I move to Northern New Jersey? Should we live together?
We decided to live together. And then we got pregnant. And then we got married. And then we bought a bigger house with a bigger yard and the years began to pass.
Over the course of one year, I went from being a single woman living in a one-bedroom apartment in Boston to a wife, mother of three (my birth daughter and two stepsons), and a home owner in the suburbs of Northern New Jersey.
Life had suddenly flipped upside down in the best possible way, but it was a lot to process, with barely any time to process it. The ground just kept moving.
It took years for people to begin returning to the office. There was so much fear and hesitancy about the virus and vaccinations, not to mention many people liked working from home—or needed to work from home due to care taking responsibilities. I was not the only person things had changed for. Most people experienced moderate, if not large-scale, change during this time. It was probably the rare occasion for someone to only be minimally impacted by the changes in society.
I often wonder how much of it has been processed and unpacked, and how much has been left unexamined as we charge forward.
For me, it changed absolutely everything. But I’m no stranger to hard times, chaos, and uncertainty—so I thrived in it, for a time. It was only years later that it began to catch up with me…
I forgot the step about eventually needing to slow down. You can rise to the occasion and brave the change and forge ahead, but at some point, you need to slow down and let it all sink it. You need to feel it and process it. You need to reassess your life under its new circumstances and make adjustments.
Before the pandemic, I was a pescetarian (23 years strong), hiked and practiced yoga regularly, had ample time to meditate or journal or reflect, and could travel on a whim and see live music as much as I wanted. The pandemic—and more importantly, motherhood—changed all that.
I love being married. I love being a mom. And I love being a stepmom. It’s good and it’s hard and my relationship with my husband and all three kids is always changing and evolving.
But it’s not easy to balance work and family life and time for yourself. It can even feel a little soul crushing at times—especially with little ones. There’s often so little time left for yourself when you’re done giving to others.
Sure, there are all kinds of hacks to improve structure and routine, but it’s a process to try new things, implement them, test and learn, and build new habits. It’s a huge cognitive load.
For a time, I managed to balance it all, but then things changed at work–and the job and company I once loved became a source of chaos and stress.
Work had been a place for me to thrive. It was a creative outlet, a place to connect with all kinds of people, and a source of inspiration. But if you change a few people, and move to new projects, it can suddenly feel entirely different. It was no longer safe, steady, and supportive—it was dragging me down and making it harder for me to be the mother I wanted to be.
After many attempts to address the issues at work, and many conversations with my husband, I made the decision to leave the workforce after almost 20 years in the Financial Services Industry.
It’s been a bumpy three months easing into my new phase of life. I’ve finally had the time and bandwidth to look back and process the events of the past four years. And now I’m thinking ahead about what comes next and how I want to channel my energy in this next phase/stage/chapter of life.
There are a lot of unknowns, but one thing is finally certain: it’s time for me to write.
Just saying that makes my eyes water. Time for myself. Time to connect with you. And time to say the things I’ve been waiting to say and share.
So here we go! Buckle up, and get ready, because I have a writing project to kick-off in the coming weeks and I’d love for you to join me on this ride.
We’re 1 week into this (in the US) and the change is palpable.
When Americans first heard about COVID-19 (AKA coronavirus), it felt a million miles away. Something scary the people in China were dealing with, but something distant, and not something we needed to be too concerned about.
On March 8th, I saw the new Broadway production of Jagged Little Pill (amazing!). On March 12th, Broadway turned off the lights for the foreseeable future.
March 13th marked the first day of my mandatory work-from-home schedule.
And slowly but surely, city-by-city and state-by-state, Americans have been told to shelter-in-place. Nearly everything is closed, except for grocery stores, pharmacies, banks, and gas stations. Although you can still exercise outside, the streets are quiet. The air is thick. And you can feel that change coming.
I don’t just mean a change in health, financial circumstances or daily habits. I mean the change within us all. A change in mindset. A spiritual change.
On my walk to the grocery store today, I waved and said hello to 6 people. SIX PEOPLE. We made eye contact, smiled, and waved. This would not have happened a week ago. We are already missing social engagement and connecting with our friends and coworkers. So, in an attempt to connect, we are saying hello to our neighbors in bolder ways.
I’ll take that silver lining for now.
Don’t get me wrong, I know this is going to be hard. And devastating. This will touch all of our lives, in small ways and large. And it will cause all of us to rumble with our demons, as Brene Brown explains. But from this fire, we can rise like the phoenix—with a new lease on life, clearer priorities, and a more compassionate a humbled heart.
It’s just the beginning.
While it’s not much consolation, we’re in this together. Technically we’re apart, but collectively, we’re in it together—which I personally find to be beautiful.
I’m not sure if I’ll post weekly or just this once, but heck, I’ve got nothing but time on my hands. Sooo, you may be hearing from me more.
Love and hugs and air-high-fives to you all! Stay safe out there.
It’s 10:56 PM and the helicopters are a buzz. We’re closing out the decade and moving into a new one. A brand new decade, brimming with promise and the possibility of dystopian doom. What could be more exciting!
What a time to be alive.
Technology is accelerating it’s grip on our daily lives and we’re loving it. Social media has touched every country and every generation of humans. We’re in it together, for better or worse. It’s chaotic and beautiful. And we’re learning about boundaries, together.
We have everything we need to solve many of the world’s problems. Power is in the palms of the people. Resources are available and if we can learn to work together, we can accomplish just about anything. Even though there are a ton of issues facing our species and our mother-Earth, we have the ability to come together and make real change. IF we can come to agreement. IF we can work together. IF that’s something humans have the desire or capacity to do.
I am so hopeful and so terrified.
Well, maybe not terrified. I suppose I was terrified. But the more I’ve lived and the more books I’ve consumed, I’ve come to realize we are a fascinating species. We are so diverse in culture and mindset and in just about every way you can imagine, it makes my head spin. In fact, the very idea that we are in-it-together can be argued. Many people still prioritize themselves first, without concern for their neighbor or neighboring country, let alone folks on the other side of the world.
We are a planet of humans, living very different lives. Parallel worlds in many ways.
With all this new technology, we should be able to connect to those humans more easily. We should see them as brothers and sisters we’ve yet to meet. Our hearts should double or triple in size as our compassion deepens and our capacity for empathy grows. For the first time in our existence, we can see into the everyday lives of others all around the world, in near real-time. If we can figure out how to harness this for good, imagine what a world we could create! Rather than seeing how different we are, we can see how similar we are. How beautifully diverse our human family is.
But again, we all have our own mindset.
And that’s perhaps our biggest ray of hope. All over the world, people are waking up to the truth that we create our own reality. That our minds are powerful and we have more choice than we can even fathom.
So rather than make predictions about what new technology will enter our lives or what political powers will come in and out of control or what will happen in my personal life, I’ll simply state that I am hopeful. Always hopeful. That this new decade will see more people coming into their personal power and living their lives more boldly, with open hearts and open minds.
When I arrived at Heathrow Airport, Kathryn was waiting for me at the gate. She insisted that picking me up from airport made the most sense and that it would get me to her house the fastest, helping me adjust to the time change. Since England is 8 hours ahead of California, I gladly accepted. Ten years ago, jet lag never fazed me and I would’ve insisted on taking a cab, bus or train… but times have changed (AKA I have aged), and now jet lag is crippling.
We met about five years ago in San Francisco when she was visiting her son, Jon, a good friend of mine and roommate at the time. We bonded instantly. Jon took us to his favorite brunch spot, then for a few afternoon cocktails in the Castro. Almost Halloween, the bars were packed with fabulous gay men in costumes and some of the best drag you’ve ever seen. A few drinks later, we’d made friends with an adorable young couple (one of which became my beloved hairstylist) who had us laughing so hard we cried. Later at dinner, we shared stories of heartbreak – we were officially friends – and Jon was officially embarrassed by the two women sitting at his table, crying in public. It was beautiful.
When I first mentioned that I was looking for a cozy getaway spot for a make-shift writing retreat, Kathryn instantly offered her vacation home in Sheringham. After searching the town on Google-image, I knew it was the right place. A small coastal town, with just enough to keep me occupied, but not enough to distract me from my mission. This was it!
The plan was to spend two nights with Kathryn and her husband at their home in Essex, then drive out to coast where they’d help me get settled for my solo adventure. As it turns out, this was an excellent plan. It gave me just enough time for a day-trip to London and to recover from the flight over. By the time we were in the car on our way to Sheringham, I was rested and ready.
Once we parked the car and unpacked our luggage, we took a stroll around town so that I could get acquainted. First, a walk to the seaboard, where we were pelted with wind and hail (and doubled over with laughter)! Then, a walk about town to point out the local market, pub, and theater company. After the tour, we settled into a local café for a cappuccino and crumpet. Now, I consider myself to be a pretty social person, but Kathryn has me beat. Everywhere we went people recognized her and stopped to chat. The café was no exception.
While sipping cappuccino and stuffing my face with crumpet, one of the owners of the café casually mentioned that they were hosting a Live Harp and Poetry Reading Night the next evening. Kathryn jumped at the idea, asking him what time it started and strongly encouraging me to attend. Poetry, wine, and harp music in a small seaside town? Sign me up!
The only problem was that most of my poetry lives in a notebook, back in the States. So, I could attend, but wouldn’t be able to share any work of my own. As fate would have it, that night the jet lag kicked in and I awoke at 2 AM and couldn’t fall back asleep. Annoyed, I reached for my phone to launch a meditation app in hopes it might coax me back to sleep, when I remembered – I’m here to write. There was no need to force myself to sleep. Time was on my side and I could write to my heart’s content.
And so I did. That night, I wrote two poems: one that I’m quite proud of and planned to share at the poetry reading, and another that is for my eyes only. Some things aren’t meant to be shared.
One of the first to arrive at Harp and Poetry night, I took the opportunity to chat with the owners and scout out a good seat. I sat next to a man named Gerard. He was originally from France, but had spent the last few decades in England, now calling it home. Poetry night was something he greatly enjoyed. Having been a part of the group for years, he’d acquired the role of translator: translating French poetry to English and English poetry to French. Not because it was necessary, but because it was lovely, and everyone in the group appreciated it.
As the remaining guests arrived, I realized this group had been meeting for years. They had a rhythm and cadence and routine. And yet they welcomed me with open arms. Nothing was awkward. At first I was afraid that I might not be up to the challenge, but they made me feel so welcome, I didn’t even hesitate when it came time to add my name to the list of readers.
Among those who read were a retired architect, professor, published author, preacher and others I didn’t have the pleasure to speak with. The topics were varied: wildlife, longing, sex, politics, anatomy, gardening, war, loss. Oh, and one man was FUNNY. I mean, stand-up-comedy kind of funny. Who knew that was even possible? Who knew poetry could be hilarious? Probably the same person who knew how captivating a harpist-storyteller could be.
When it was my turn to read, I stood up, shuffled my way to the front of the room, and read my soul and words aloud. I’ve grown somewhat accustomed to writing about my deep-dark feelings, but reading them out loud and in public is a completely different story. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it. My heart was pounding, my face was red, but I did it. Once I’d settled back into my seat, I turned to Gerard who looked at me and said “Very good. Your face is red.”
It’s not quite the compliment I was hoping for, but hey, it was honest. And I’ll always take honesty.
What stood out the most to me about that evening, was the passion in the room. Here was a group of people, united in their love of words. They helped each other grow, in confidence and skill. Month after month, year after year, they gathered to share their personal work or their favorite work by other poets. Not for profit, not for agenda, but for passion. For love.
We should all be so lucky to be part of a community like that.
Yours truly,
Erin Terese
P.S. This follows Part 2. Each part in this series is written by whim, not necessarily in chronological order or any order for that matter. Enjoy!
Perhaps it was overly ambitious to think I’d spend my time in Sheringham writing. It’s been a busy year, to say the least. Actually, the last five years have been a bit of a whirlwind. I’ve desperately needed some downtime. Case in point: my New Year’s Resolution for 2018 was to chill the f*ck out. I failed by epic proportions. This year has been anything but chill – it’s been a year of growth and change and progress, but nothing about it has been “chill.”
Now that I’m here in East Anglia, my body wants to sleep. I’ve been sleeping between 9 and 11 hours a day. Every day. Yes, you could say that I’m tired. Yesterday I woke past noon and begrudgingly dragged myself down to the water to enjoy what little daylight was left. Instead of walking the coastal trail as I’d done each day prior, I walked along the shore – my boots in the sand and stone. And it was gorgeous. Absolutely breathtaking! The tide was rising, but I couldn’t stop walking.
Rather than get stranded on the beach (on a particularly chilly day), I stopped an older couple as they passed by and asked if there was a way to access the coastal trail from the beach. This way, if the tide got too high, I’d have a safe way out. Luckily, the man and woman were extremely friendly and confirmed that yes, there was in fact a pathway to the trail, which incidentally was not far off from where we were.
I made my way along the shoreline and eventually crossed a long stretch of stones to reach the coastal trail. It was a brisk, but beautiful walk back to town. Out of town by sand and stone, and back into town by a winding trail along the cliffs. To call it picturesque is an understatement. As I exited the trail, I was surprised to see the couple I’d met earlier on the beach heading toward me. They waved hello and stopped me for a chat. Not only had my American accent given me away, but they could tell I was traveling solo and kindly invited me to join them the following day for their weekly walk into a neighboring town. We decided to meet at their house at 10AM the following morning.
* * * * *
This morning I set an alarm. Since I’ve been binge-sleeping, I didn’t want to risk missing our 10AM start time. Arriving promptly at 10, I rang the doorbell and was quickly greeted by Susan. She brought me into their home, introduced me to their sleek Tonkinese cats, and escorted me over to a table containing a map of the area. Prior to my arrival, she’d mapped out areas of East Anglia I might want to explore. Not only did she show me each location on the official map, but she’d hand written (drawn) a map on a full-size piece of paper for me to keep – with details including bus routes, restaurant recommendations, and inside-tips only a local could provide.
This. This is the magic of travel. This is the warmth and kindness I didn’t even realize was missing in my life.
After a cup of delicious pour over coffee, we bundled up and began our trek to Waybourne. We discussed politics: what it’s been like in the US with Trump as president, and what it’s been like in the UK after the Brexit vote. We discussed careers. Travel. Food. Pets. Architecture. Death. Grieving. Creativity. Art. Psychology. Somehow, as if by magic, no topics were off limit. Maybe it’s because I’m just passing through town or maybe we realized that we’re kindred spirits. Susan and Trevor have a subtle joie de vivre. The kind of joy that’s tinged by sorrow – much like myself. The soft smile of someone who appreciates the beauty of life, because they know how hard it can be. They’ve lived it. And yet they – we – choose to stay soft and loving.
You’d think by now I’d get used to the ways of the Universe. That I wouldn’t be surprised by the people that “just happen” to cross your path at exactly the right time, right when you need them the most. And yet, I’m still amazed. Still grateful at the magic that draws such people near. I am so grateful for fated friends, tucked in all corners of the globe, waiting to be discovered. I only hope I offered them an ounce of the inspiration and kindness they bestowed upon me.
Once upon a time, not very long ago, a rogue puffin was spotted on the east coast of England, in the county of Norfolk. This may not sound very exciting to your average person, but to me, learning this was like finding out Big Foot had just moved in down the hall and was going to be my new neighbor.
I adore puffins. Something about them feels magical to me. Shaped like a penguin, but smaller and more colorful, these beautiful creatures bring a smile to my face every time I see one. Seeing one in the wild has become a bit of a bucket-list item for me. So to arrive in Sheringham and hear that one was seen not far from here just a few months ago, made my heart skip with delight. Far from home and away from its family, this puffin made its way to Norfolk. It wasn’t supposed to here. It went rogue. Clearly, we are kindred spirits.
It’s Thanksgiving and I’m thousands of miles away from my family and friends. Needing time to write and reflect, I booked a two week vacation in England. Much like this rogue puffin, I’m not supposed to be here. I should be back in the US with loved ones, over-indulging on high calorie food and counting my blessings. But here I am, on the east coast of England, eating fish and chips and indulging in the gluttony of time-spent-alone.
In a world that moves so fast you can barely remember which version of the iPhone is the newest, taking time to yourself is the ultimate luxury – a betrayal to our role as women. A woman my age should be married with kids, struggling to pay the mortgage and trying the newest fad diet to lose weight. A woman my age should be recently divorced and worried she might never marry again. A woman my age should be wondering if it’s too late to run away and start over as she sits in the waiting room of yet another job interview, in a field of work she hates. A woman my age should be devastated that she’s single or angry that having children and a family isn’t working out like she planned. A woman my age should have it all figured out and be happy. That’s a lot of shoulds.
One thing that’s true in all of those statements, in all of those shoulds, is that women (this goes for men too) are not supposed to slow down and evaluate our lives. We should be this and we should be that, but we are never taught that what we really need to do is slow down and breathe. Slow down and take stock. Slow down and get to know ourselves and figure out if all the shoulds in our life align with what it is we really want for ourselves. Who is deciding the shoulds? Is it us or is it them? And if it’s “them,” who gave them the right?
I’m 35 years old and for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m starting to really understand myself.
The majority of my life I’ve felt like a fraud. A failed version of who I’m supposed to be. Not really sure who I’m meant to be, I’ve gone from one situation to the next, trying to figure it out. It’s only now that I’m starting to get at the truth: I’m not supposed to be a certain way. I’m supposed to design my one life to the best of my ability, and squeeze every ounce of joy, pain, loss, and gratitude from each new experience. I’m meant to feel.
There are a lot of articles circulating about the SuperMoon and how to harness the energy for personal growth and the highest self. I don’t follow astrology much, but I can tell you that I personally have a connection with the moon and pay attention to its phases.
Regardless of what you believe, it’s always a good idea to pause and reflect. To contemplate what is working in your life and what is not. What you want to stop, start and continue.
The past few months have brought about a lot of change in my life. I had a romance end, a new career opportunity rise to the surface, the illness of a loved one and many loved ones in my life struggling with changes in their own lives. Any change can trigger past hurt and insecurities, but many changes taking place at once can really put you through the ringer.
This is exactly what happened.
With the help of my therapist, my yoga practice, mindfulness, meditation, journal entries, talking to loved ones and a whole host of other self-care techniques, I have done my very best to process all of this change and look for areas of growth. What do I want? What is important to me? What would I like to change? And perhaps most importantly, what would I like to release?
Since this SuperMoon is all about release, it’s no shocker that today it has come into sharp focus: I want to release my intense desire to control the outcome. While this serves me in many ways, it also really holds me back and keeps me from experiencing the beauty that is found in letting go.
Now, I cannot promise I won’t be a plotter and a planner, always working toward the next big idea (that’s just who I am), but I can relax into the journey more.
I want to release the need to analyze every situation in my life and what it means, relaxing into the gifts it brings, without always questioning its greater purpose.
I want to release the fear in my heart and lead from a place of love and acceptance.
I want to release the idea that I am anything less than completely whole.
I want to release the belief that I know best and live from a more humble place.
I want to release the fear of failure and judgment and pursue the life of my dreams without hesitation.
I want to live fully, with an open heart, an open mind and to love with a sense of wild abandon.
erin terese 