This morning, on a flight to Chicago, two thoughts occurred to me. One: it’s almost the summer solstice. Two: I’ve been in Portland almost a year.
We headed directly east from the airport, shooting above and beyond the clouds. Below us, the Columbia River stretched wide and impossibly blue-green. I could see countless waterfalls pouring down the hills toward the river. To our south rose the still-snowy peaks of Mt Hood, Mt Jefferson and the Three Sisters.
This is one of my favorite things about flying: seeing the world from a completely different perspective. This macro view reveals things that simply can’t be seen from the ground. The tidy squares and circles of agricultural regions, the meanderings of rivers, the never-ending streams of traffic, and the light pollution from our cities are all revealed when viewed from above.
I wonder if there’s a way to look at one’s life with that same perspective? Can we see the events that leave jagged scars like impassable, icy mountains on our souls? Can we recognize the beauty in the serpentine course of our life, sometimes doubling back on itself like a small river winding its way to something greater? Do we know just how busy we are, driving, pushing, making, doing, always rushing and always with one foot in the past and the other in the future?
A year ago, I changed my life pretty radically (by some standards at least). Or, to put it more precisely, I made a radical change of address. The changes inside me have been more gradual and harder to see.
I sold one house, rented an apartment and bought another house all in the space of six months. The result is a whole new understanding of the minimalism that I’ve been pursuing for several years. What things mean home? What things were perfect in one place and are simply awkward or unnecessary in another? Am I going to live in a space that fits a future I hope to have or one that fits me now?
I set off to find a new tribe, to make new friends and have new experiences. This has been both harder and more rewarding than I imagined. Making acquaintances is easy, but friendships are harder… especially if you’re an introvert who works from home.
Online dating has gotten weirder with the proliferation of hookup apps (disguised as dating apps) and the sheer number of married men on the sites. It has been hard to avoid falling into complete cynicism about dating as a middle-aged person. And yet, these experiences have also taught me a lot about myself, finding the path of daring that also includes some healthy boundaries.
My relationship with my health has slowly begun to change. Surrounded by a culture that loves food and loves being active, I’m shedding years of “shoulds” and “must nots” about food and instead am starting to pay attention to what is nourishing, what is sustainable, what is healing.
Hell, six months ago I gave up Diet Coke for good and anyone who knows me knows what a radical change that is.
I’ve deepened my mindfulness practice. While sitting in meditation can still be hard, I’m learning that those hard times are as vitally important – maybe even more important – than the calm, peaceful sessions. But best of all is my strengthening ability to bring myself into the present throughout the day, not just during sitting meditation. To catch myself weaving a dramatic story about something in my head, stop, take a breath, and be present with what’s real and what’s in my power to change.
When viewed from above, the landscape of my life is changing. It has more texture, more variability. It is strong and fragile at the same time. It is utterly common and uniquely my own.
Tomorrow is the longest day of the year and a full moon. I’m not a believer in astrology, but I like the thought of those extra hours, and the natural light in both the day and night sky, to step back and take it all in. To see what has changed and what is emerging. To simply be present with what is.
All pictures taken by me from seat 29F, PDX-ORD
GerryMilz says
I love reading your letters. Wish I had the opportunity to be your friend in your former life here in Wisconsin. It seems so long ago that we met and traveled together, and then you were gone.
How can I miss someone who I knew for such a short time.
Lora says
That is so sweet Gerry, thanks! That trip seems like a long time ago, doesn’t it? Maybe because I’ve packed quite a bit in the year since then. :-)