In-Between

Powerless over everything but not helpless over anything.

I sit at my desk and stare at the blank screen. The blinking cursor taunts me with expectation. But right now, I have nothing to say. Actually, I have a lot to say—just nothing good.

With one foot stuck in the past and the other one leaping into the future, the rest of my body sits squarely in the present. It anchors me into a place full of big feelings I would much rather avoid; feelings fueled by the voices that knock around in my head: “Your past disqualifies you from a different tomorrow. Just give up, stay small, and go back to what you know.” It is a maddening cycle of recriminations that shroud any clear idea of how to fill the empty, unwritten pages.

Outside, just beyond the windows, the cloudless and deep blue sky gives way to a cold, grey blowing wind. The green leaves still cling to the branches and seem to resist dropping down even as they morph into shades of red, orange and yellow. And the dark, heavy clouds threaten with rain. This is the inevitable, tumultuous transition from late summer to fall; from what was to what will be. It is life in-between.

Fear (of the unknown) will convince me to seek refuge in the regrets of a past I cannot change, escape into the worry about a future I cannot predict, and tell me to shut out the good in an effort to protect myself from the bad.

Just then, I get a text from my dear friend Melissa:

“Hey, yoga is canceled tonight.”

“Oh bummer. Wanna hang out?” I propose.

Because not having all the answers is not a failure; just reality. And while I cannot change reality, I can help myself enjoy the walk through it.

“Well, I was going to do a turn on the trails by the museum. Meet me there in half an hour?”

“Yasssss!”

With that, I shut down my computer, and get up. After a check of the temperature, I add a couple of layers to my work out outfit I have been sporting since this morning, put on a pair of purple socks, and slip into my Uggs. Then I grab my coat, a hat and head out. As Barbara used to say: “Move a muscle; change a thought.”

After a short drive through my neighborhood, I meet up with Melissa in the parking lot. No sooner do we begin our walk and talk, than the clouds break up just a little, the sun shines through, and a very faint mist drops down ahead of us. Barely perceptible, it is also unmistakable and together, we walk straight into it.

Lost in the back and forth of our conversation, we wind our way up and around the dense, wooded section, trudge up from the base of the sloping, open field and emerge on top of the hill. Immediately, we stop. And then we start laughing. Right in front of us is a massive rainbow.

“Ok, Universe, we get it. Message received!”

And while nothing has changed, everything is completely different.

Now is not the time to clench up, curl up or get small. Now is the time to let go, stretch out and receive. Today I will do one thing to be open to all that is coming towards me.