It's 6:45 in the morning...and I'm sitting on a plane watching the Arizona landscape slide beneath me.
I've always been massively interested in maps. I love looking at them and following my progress across the beautiful countryside. I love the mile markers. I love the hills, the mountains, the valleys. I love the freeways and highways and country roads that at times snuggle up close and cozy and other times cut deeply across the terrain.
I've always loved flying. Since having children, flying has been accompanied with a great deal of anxiety, particularly upon take off and landing. I live for more than myself and that makes me nervous (read - terrified). However, even as I pray to see the faces of Nels and my girls again, I am completely enthralled with studying the world 35,000 feet below.
This weekend has been quite the trip. Spending three days with two of the most introspective women I know. Two women that I admire and connect with so much that they are some of the select few people that I actually care what they think of me. And that opens me up to some incredible vulnerability that I generally go to great lengths to avoid.
It was wonderful.
Not only did I get to gab the weekend away with Clancy and Lynsey, but I also got to spend the time with Lynsey's husband, Ben. Ben is: A) a dear friend, B) Nels's college roommate and bosom buddy, and C) soon to be Dr. Strader (currently in the final stretch of completing his doctorate in psychology).
I expected the weekend to be spent with lots of feelings, fun, and late nights. And it was. But I didn't really expect to be leaving Arizona feeling like I was in emotional shock. I've made some discoveries.
I live my life making maps out of what's inside. - Figuring out how to get from where I am to where I want to be. I have a plan and I navigate my way carefully, with great tenacity. And it works, for the most part. However, there are some paths that I take on (whether by choice or chance) that are difficult. I know that there is a stunning vista at the end of the trail, but I get to places that are frightening or that physically can't be traversed alone. Sometimes I try to go around the obstacles and the scary places, I try to muscle my way through the brambles or climb my way out of the canyons, but I simply don't have the right tools.
Sometimes I come to strong, wide rivers that I have to cross. I wade in, bull-headed and fighting the current. I will NOT LOSE. I end up holding onto a rock in the middle of the river, unable to go any further. It's too deep, too strong. At times I just climb up on top of the rock, sunbathing and happy, shutting out the turmoil. Other times I hop back in, determined to make it this time. I NEED TO GET TO THE OTHER SIDE. Only to be swept just a few meters down to another rock where I claw myself out of the strong current and onto the next haven where I repeat the process.
Little do I realize that often the river never needed to be crossed, it just needed to riden. There was an easier and safer path at the end. Not as direct a route, but happier. And sometimes I don't realize that instead of trying to shove my through a tangled path or up a perilous climb, all I need to do is look to either side of me to find others who have been here before ready and willing help. They have the right tools and they know the way.
I'm trying to figure out why that's so hard for me to grasp.
Also, trying to get some new maps . . . or maybe just getting better at following the markers along the trail . . .
I've always loved flying. Since having children, flying has been accompanied with a great deal of anxiety, particularly upon take off and landing. I live for more than myself and that makes me nervous (read - terrified). However, even as I pray to see the faces of Nels and my girls again, I am completely enthralled with studying the world 35,000 feet below.
This weekend has been quite the trip. Spending three days with two of the most introspective women I know. Two women that I admire and connect with so much that they are some of the select few people that I actually care what they think of me. And that opens me up to some incredible vulnerability that I generally go to great lengths to avoid.
It was wonderful.
Not only did I get to gab the weekend away with Clancy and Lynsey, but I also got to spend the time with Lynsey's husband, Ben. Ben is: A) a dear friend, B) Nels's college roommate and bosom buddy, and C) soon to be Dr. Strader (currently in the final stretch of completing his doctorate in psychology).
I expected the weekend to be spent with lots of feelings, fun, and late nights. And it was. But I didn't really expect to be leaving Arizona feeling like I was in emotional shock. I've made some discoveries.
I live my life making maps out of what's inside. - Figuring out how to get from where I am to where I want to be. I have a plan and I navigate my way carefully, with great tenacity. And it works, for the most part. However, there are some paths that I take on (whether by choice or chance) that are difficult. I know that there is a stunning vista at the end of the trail, but I get to places that are frightening or that physically can't be traversed alone. Sometimes I try to go around the obstacles and the scary places, I try to muscle my way through the brambles or climb my way out of the canyons, but I simply don't have the right tools.
Sometimes I come to strong, wide rivers that I have to cross. I wade in, bull-headed and fighting the current. I will NOT LOSE. I end up holding onto a rock in the middle of the river, unable to go any further. It's too deep, too strong. At times I just climb up on top of the rock, sunbathing and happy, shutting out the turmoil. Other times I hop back in, determined to make it this time. I NEED TO GET TO THE OTHER SIDE. Only to be swept just a few meters down to another rock where I claw myself out of the strong current and onto the next haven where I repeat the process.
Little do I realize that often the river never needed to be crossed, it just needed to riden. There was an easier and safer path at the end. Not as direct a route, but happier. And sometimes I don't realize that instead of trying to shove my through a tangled path or up a perilous climb, all I need to do is look to either side of me to find others who have been here before ready and willing help. They have the right tools and they know the way.
I'm trying to figure out why that's so hard for me to grasp.
Also, trying to get some new maps . . . or maybe just getting better at following the markers along the trail . . .
5 comments:
loved this! Somehow, it makes completely sense to me. LOL! Regardless of the 'gibberish'....I can totally see myself in very similar shoes....well, the riding the river part. :)
This was amazing!!! Thanks for your insight!
oh i LOVED this rachel!! i love that analogy about swimming, the desperate need to get the other side. and that sometimes we just have to let go to see where the current takes us.
that was beautiful. and i'm crying. spending time with you last weekend was so wonderful, and makes me wish yet again that we lived closer. who knows though? maybe we wouldn't be able to come to this place in our friendship if we were easily accessible? i doubt it, but i'm trying to tell myself that so i feel better about our space. :)
either way, i will focus on the quality vs. quantity time with you and be grateful for it.
you are one amazing, beautiful human being. and i love you so!
absolutely beautiful! I am SO happy you had the chance to reconnect and to spend time in the presence of incredible people--what a WONDERFUL time!!! :)
Beautifully written--I love the analogy, especially when you realize you didn't need to fight across that river in the first place. You are wonderful!
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