For a couple of years now I’ve been aware of something that I can only describe as a big bend in the road ahead for me. One of those wide, wide curves you might take in a train or a car in a vast landscape, the bend so wide that you can’t see around it, can’t see what’s coming.
It reeks of change, a kind of inevitable pull that I can feel in the watery parts of my body. Right now I feel like I’m only half way around; I still can’t see where this ride is taking me.
The sweet psychic in Australia, when I told her that I wanted to try and get a grip on my future because I couldn’t see it, said I couldn’t see it because the part of me that wanted to see it also wanted to control it, and that the days of controlling were over. “You’re in the mystery now,” she said from her cheery, bright room a million miles away, and also that if I tried to manhandle my future, I’d burn out.
But I’m so good at manhandling, I thought; seeing things, making things, figuring them out. I’ve made so many pancakes from that one basic batter.
But as my friend Patrick likes to say, “Whatever got you here won’t get you to the next place.” I feel like I’ve quoted Patrick here before, but the sentiment seems to be a real theme for me.
The psychic said I’d done a bang up job of hoisting and building over all these years, “a real striver you are,” but that had come to an end. What’s coming, she said, is a softer time, a time of not knowing, not planning and controlling. She nodded when I said that I also liked to do other things beside work, like rip colored paper into collages, and sing. And also that I hadn’t done either for a good while. They were on the list, but just way down at the bottom for when I had more time.
I understood everything she suggested, I just didn’t know what to do next, how to open to this new way of being. The old dog knew how to make bullet points and daily lists. The old dog liked resting back on the pillow at night ticking off all the things she’d gotten done, and then starting over the next day.
And then last week I got Covid, and everything changed. I swept my calendar clean of dates and classes – because if nothing else, I mean to abide by the social contract – at least when I can.
I got in my softest clothes, and I made a nest on the front porch, sitting in my dad’s old rocking chair, feet up under a blanket, surrounded by trees, music, poetry, writing. Mark’s hound dog, Flora, was at my feet.
It’s day nine of Covid and I couldn’t be happier.
A week before I got sick I had been researching places I could disappear to find some quiet. I was going to spend $1000 for two nights in a little loft on the Bay to write, to settle down and to focus. But here was the peace I sought all along right here on my porch.
The trees, the dog, the sweet, breezy California weather. No plans. No clock. Nowhere to go, just a contagious illness that made friends and plans run for the hills. It was a great hall pass from the universe.
I did things slowly. I veered toward things that hadn’t made it to the big list. I wrote without a deadline. I wrote without destination.
I dug deep into the rabbit hole of my Grandmother’s life as a Jew in turn of the century Salt Lake City, Utah. How she was so appalled by her mother who smoked, that she ran around the house pulling curtains closed so the neighbors wouldn’t see her blasphemy.
I closed my eyes and walked myself through my childhood bedroom in L.A., – a house that was torn down 5 years ago – remembering how many steps from the front door to the bedroom, the feel of the door knob in my hand, and the first glance of my teenage sanctuary; the blue shag carpet, the records, the turntable. I wrote down all the details I could remember for a story I started writing.
I read poems without rushing.
I walked from the front porch to the side porch to sit in the sun.
I took spontaneous naps on the couch.
I dropped in. I dropped out. I let thoughts meander and grow. I took notes. I stayed with myself, stayed on that porch for hours each day, and the soup of me got thicker and creamier until I was a rich broth that tasted like me.
Each day, with that second covid line getting more faint I notice a little grief at the thought of recovery, of returning to however I used to spend my time. The list, the priorities, the rush to make it all happen.
I still can’t tell you where that big bend is headed, but I’ve got the porch. Such a good place to ride into the mystery.
I could feel it when I read about that faint line. Things going back to “normal”. Happy that you’re better, though. LOVE the photo. And that bend…hmmm… curious to know where it leads. If somewhere.
I have made some big turns in my life – you’re preparing the ground now, how wise! Sending healing vibes from the east coast and also support – it’s very rich, the turning point time, snuggle in.
Oh, Laurie. This is so beautiful, the way the writing captures the feeling of slowing down. You are marinating “next”. So lovely.
Beautiful tale, so glad to read it (and glad it didn’t turn into long covid). I am reaching this same point as I approach my 70th birthday. It’s a little hard to understand why I care less about the rushing world, and care more about the silence that surrounds me if I let it, the striving that leaves on the slow midnight train, watching the birds that gather near my feet, and when did spring flowers grow so vibrant? Turning inward and at the same time outward in a peaceful way is a blessing of age. Welcome.
Oh Laurie, it was so good to hear your voice. Feeling you sitting there on the porch lowered my heart rate a few beats as I drink a 2nd cup of tea and jump into that space between making lists and doing. I too am Imagining a place to slow down; realizing it’s right here…well that’s everything.
Glad you are well, in all the ways. Miss you.
My eyes misted and my smile grew as I meandered through your writing, fully feeling this familiar experience.
Onward , into the mystery! you magnificent human
Much love for your journey
it is just “wild” that so much of my journey seems akin to yours. this daughter of an Italian immigrant mother and Nonna — same same as they say in Vietnam — to the Jewish daughter and granddaughter.. and all the rest. same same. AND i know others feel it to, which is perhaps why we find you, are drawn in, stay for a while – maybe until you kick us out. thanks for speaking to the part of me that needed a voice this morning. i am off to rip up some papers, make a collage, and sing at the top of my lungs! xo
Rich soup on the porch feeling into the mystery. Time to sing ……
Great picture, great time to refresh, renew and discover… discover maybe nothing apart from how great both your porches are! So glad you are getting better and hope that curve brings all that you want and need in its own sweet time. x
Lovely story, thanks for sharing. I miss tearing paper too.
I am so with you right now. I felt like cr@p both times I had Covid, so it wasn’t much of a retreat. But I did recently return from a week of silent retreat with an hour of each day when the facilitator and I could talk about my poetry and other writing. I long to be back there, because where I live just doesn’t provide the beauty and variety of spaces you’re enjoying. But I am aware now of feeling like “the goo inside a chrysalis” that’s trying to give its imaginal cells space to remember wings. I wish both of us plenty of time and space to find and follow the new road, and find our new wings. ❤️
Love this! Maybe you’ve moved a little more round that big turn. Love, John
I will tear paper with you anytime. I have been wanting to get back to that too… but can’t seem to get there. Lovely reflection Laurie. Xoxo
Well, what I wrote just got erased…here goes again…who knew that I would land on your thoughts this morning. I find the way you think fascinating and very inspirational. I loved the words…”what got you here won’t get you to your next thing”. I loved your meanderings through your grandmother’s life and your own in LA. You are the human who inspires me to write poems when I never understood poems. You inspired me to write words that I never knew were in me. So I know that I will always follow your path and jump in when I can. Thank you for being you.
Laurie this was beautiful. 👏🏼 I can so relate because my turning point was retirement and my retirement is like COVID in a way. No one bothers me. No one comes over. No one calls or checks in, I think it is because they think I am busy but the real secret is, I’m not, and I will never tell. I love it this way. Go with the way your life is taking you😊 Feel better
I’m sorry you got sick, Laurie, but I’m glad you found that proverbial silver lining. Here’s to the realization that all we need is right where we are.
Laurie, I love this piece. I’ve wooosssshhhed through the maps of my life and here I am at 86. I tell people I’m learning how to be old. It’s a big swooping curve of a road with no signs of how long it will be. My life is great now and right now. I don’t look down the road very far. Just this. Now, just this.
A hall pass from the universe. I love it and so appreciate your story about it. Even when you’re sick, you’re a brilliant model for us all. Well, at least for me.
Beautiful Laurie
This is great. Let’s tear some paper together this summer 🩷
Beautiful discovery about yourself. About 4 years ago, I had someone hep me quiet the ‘manager mind’ part of me and it has been so peaceful every since. And now I am very protective of my schedule, I feel like a mama bear protecting her baby bears when I keep my schedule free and clear so that I may sit, nap, day dream and read in the sun. I am sorry your got covid, but I am glad you are rediscovering how to rest and relax.
All the things we think we are “supposed” to do – and then, bam, we are forced back into ourselves. You have given so much to me and so many others. I appreciate you and your desire to sit, rest, rip paper, and SING sister. SING. mwah
you!!! <3
I am sorry you have Covid. Your words seeped into my soul as you think about the bend in your journey. Don’t look for it, it will come. Best to allow it to shape your new you. The old skin will gradually be discarded. Acceptance of the new you will blossom.
❤️😊❤️
Sometimes what needs to be done has to hit us over the head to get our attention—wrest control from our capable, competent, efficient hands by forcing us to take a moment!! So sorry about your Covid, but perhaps just the secret spice that was needed to allow your soup to bubble into the flavour of now. xoxo
Coincidentally, I’ve been on a similar journey, only it was pneumonia that began this past March that sidelined me. That diagnosis was a complete shock. In all my 71 years, I’ve never had such a serious diagnosis, other than Covid 3 years ago. No hospital needed this time either, fortunately, just antibiotics, fluids, and rest. I had finally gone to the doctor because I had had fatigue I couldn’t shake. (Note, I’m retired, so I was blessed to have no job complications in this mix, and my husband cared for me.) For the first six weeks after the diagnosis, I did absolutely nothing except the bare minimum of self-care–eat, sleep, take a shower now and then. As you said, no clock, all plans and meetings cancelled to prevent contagion. When I felt a little better, I got out of bed and went with my cats to my nest in my sewing room featuring a comfy chair, good lighting, and a wall of colorful fabric warming my soul. I dived into reading, gorging on hundreds of pages of beloved books. A little more energy returned, and I picked up my knitting. Naps still recharge me. Only now is writing possible again. Despite being sick, I loved the complete absence of obligations, expectations, chores. All I had to do–could do–was just be, and it was wonderful. I realized I haven’t had a true rest of any kind in almost three years (for a variety of reasons). Only through illness did I realize how exhausted I had become. Of course, with that awareness comes the need to figure out how not to become that exhausted again. To figure what exhausts me, relaxes me, energizes me now. Your comment that “if I tried to manhandle my future, I’d burn out” hit me between the eyes–I too need to let go of all the control I’ve been trying to wield all my life. Before pneumonia, “a time of not knowing, not planning and controlling” would terrify me. Now it’s beckoning me. Thank you for sharing all of this. I wish you complete recovery, that all the good stuff that came from being sick stays with you as you go forward, and all the joy you can handle comes your way as the curve ahead reveals what’s next for you.
Thank you for sharing your journey. As usual, so honest and sweet at the same time! I’m glad you are experiencing a “light” version of COVID, and treating it with the kindness you deserve.
Wonderful, Laurie, I trust that you will — as Van Morrison urged — “let go into the mystery.” You always have. And I hope that your inner cocooning continues, even when those thin lines disappear altogether and the world tries to pull you back in.
Best to you on this journey. I hope that you can continue to find spaces in which to take it slow.
🌸🥰🍃
I, too, am trying to rest in the mystery of “what’s next?” But you really put it into song. So glad you have the porch. xo
Your writing is so sensitive to what’s going on within and beyond you, and I appreciated that you “stayed with yourself” until you “were a rich broth that tasted like you.” I’m moved by this piece to continue to ‘stay with myself’ even when that self seems to want to jump around, or to broadcast that I’m ‘not enough’ or that I’ve got ‘another list to make’. Thank you for helping me ‘stay still’ and relish the quiet.
My river too is bending , so intriguing to read of your situation with Covid. In my case, I am bending to a caregiver position for my spouse. Most elements of our life are changing and I am striving to be flexible and compassionate
While not losing my joie to vivre.
I so appreciate your sharing of your perspective. I do not know where this path is taking me. My energy levels have to change and my will can not guide this much like your psychic acknowledged. So here we are on these uneven paths as our rivers bend.
Oh Laurie! the Queen of Quip and Quote! you look regal on the throne as you inspire a world of Wild Writers! wishing you a smooth transition on this journey! thank you for being YOU !!