Release The Plan To Listen
You can't wait for an invitation as it's up to us to bring the wonder.
We sunk to our heels in silent unison, peering into the moving branches that had stopped us in our tracks.
Small eyes stared back at ours, child watching child, mother watching mother. I dropped my gaze — we mean no harm — and clocked that my four-year-old had instinctively shifted to soft voices, gentle feet.
Nature is a quiet teacher.
A surprise came from the native raspberry foliage near my feet as the well-camouflaged daddy red-legged pademelon emerged. He had clocked our position and hopped towards his family, forearms askew as though ushering them from a blustery NYC winter street into the safety of the theatre foyer.
We glanced at each other, he and I, connected for a moment as parents under the whisha whisha of rainforest trees.
The movement had startled a Three-Toed Snake Tooth Skink who had been curiously watching the display of Humans In Nature from the safety of a fallen cedar tree, hollowed and softened by decades of damp, where he retreated all but his elongated snout.
This was the third time in a week I had found myself up a creek, in a forest, or playing cat-and-mouse with crashing ocean waves, activities I’d once reserved for weekend getaways or to be organised “by someone else.”
Until I woke up and realised that I AM that someone, so why not lace the boots and grab the knapsack?
Life is now, my friends, and we needn’t wait for an invitation to be in it.
This year has been one of unprecedented growth, struggle and identity shifts for our whole family. We’ve battled and rebuilt, grounded and felt lost in a sea of overwhelm, wept and laughed and held and walked away, and all the messy bits in between.
And sometimes it’s hurt. But the pain of growth is better than the ache of apathy.
I’ve spoken to many women who are finding themselves in fortitude (is it any wonder?), and turning inwards to presence, not achievement, to hold strong when times feel bleak.
With presence, we can meet despair at our door with gentle hearts and formidable boundaries, and expand into the most honest versions of ourselves, the one we deserve to be.
For me, presence is amplified in nature, with each stony step I feel like I’m creating a map for all my future versions to follow, stepping out to remind myself there is always another path to follow, always a new adventure ahead.
What about you?
How do you feel most connected to yourself?
How do you release the plan to listen?
I’ll leave you with these beautiful words from Madeline Urion:
On the Canadian prairies, there’s a golden quality to the sunlight that comes to us slanted through the clouds and through the crimson and gold leaves. The size of the sky out here has to be seen to be believed. It’s all bittersweet and painfully beautiful at the same time, more so because of the cold and the dark that are soon coming.
I am reminded that the sun follows its arc through the sky, not worried or doing work that is not the sun’s to do. The moon follows and knows that its work is to reflect this light back. I take great comfort in this. What animates the seeds that are now buried but will grow; what animates the trees as they stand sleeping; what animates the geese to take wing and fly south in formation is present to me. The spirit of the land tenderly holds me. It reminds me to breathe, to pray that (I quote verbatim the wonderful Jen Willhoite here) “When I cannot say all is well, or all is known, help me say all is held, so I never believe all is lost”.
Be well, my friends.
Warmly,
Jenn