Wintering 9 | From the Archive

First published February 20, 2020

It’s a Wednesday in January, so here’s a repost from the archive for you to enjoy!

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It seems to begin with a sort of discomfort, a feeling of misfit with the norm. Taken along by the current of expectations, of occupations, of responsibilities, you do your days, do your time. This is how it is, sunrise to sundown. And then, you find one day that perhaps you’ve followed a familiar model by default instead of a unique one by design. Doing life instead of living it. 

You sit yourself down, then, mostly nervous in the discomfort, slightly hopeful in the longing. Open your heart. Listen. Where are you? Who are you? What makes you come alive? What’s that thing that causes your soul to sing? Where do you want to be?

Be patient, here, this takes time (and maybe tears). Maybe there are no words in answer when you ask those things. Hold steady. Keep listening. Maybe, just like at your very beginning, there are no words. But there are pictures. Find them, cut them, paste them. Even one, to the home screen on your phone. Show your eyes what your heart already knows, what your tongue cannot yet speak. Words will come as you grow. You’ll see. They’ll follow each other across a page, spilling line by line. They’ll find your voice. They’ll come for you to say.   

Then you might find that what you’re seeing and what you’re saying now, may be vastly different from where you are. The new and the now, they may be worlds apart, the getting from here to there, its own impossibility. But, before you fold your arms, toss your hands, sigh in a slump, do one thing: build the smallest bridge. Just one. That may be the only change toward your dream that you can manage, right now, but even a footbridge is strong enough to support your step.

Take one step, and another, then another, across that bridge. Then? Build the next bridge. For another change to get you closer to where you want to be. For another part of your fully alive. Perhaps it’s the first page of your short story. The first stitches of your first scarf. A batch of homemade bread. A new license for that business idea. A home different from this one, or this one seen with different eyes. A pivot in occupation for a pivot in lifestyle for a pivot in life. By steps and strides, by messes and making, you’ll begin to find that your world is changing. You’re coming into that other place, the unique one by design. The one that was a fleeting feeling way back then, that became the picture, then the words, then the bridge, then the bridges, then the life.  

Loves, if you’ve been reading here for any length of time, you’ll know what I describe above is what I’ve lived. These are my words; this is my story, our story. It’s become our way, the listening, the noting, the building of bridges, the coming alive. This is my description of living well. For me, it’s simplicity, it’s margin, it’s nature. It’s fewer, better things. It’s creating. It’s stewardship and mindfulness. It’s work that leaves beauty and a sense of accomplishment in its wake. It’s inspiring others along the way. Not slick or polished or perfect, it’s honest, instead. Real. Raw with life. Yet beautiful still. The heaped up and rumpled; the smoothly flowing, both. 

And what a wonder is this platform, where you and I can connect and share in our common journey of finding life and finding home. So thank you, loves, for the cheers the other day about the site refresh, about what I’m doing here for you out there. For people like us. I’m excited to see the places we will go.