We take off tomorrow. Our house is packed up and ready for our renters, our RV fridge is filled.
And T does not want to go. He is already missing his friends and grieving another missed year at school. He says it will be terrible and he will be miserable.
We have been trying to sit with his sadness and anger. Honestly, I have my doubts too. We are leaving jobs, schools, family, friends, home, neighbors– all parts of life that we love, for the complete unknown. We are leaving security. We are told homes on wheels break, sewage tanks back up. Weather will likely be too hot and too cold. There will be bugs, smoke, fires and the delta variant. We will make connections and then say goodbye again and again. We will be on top of each other in a small space. We will fight, make messes, we will experience boredom and anger.
YET, I said to T (and myself)… yet, it is also possible that miraculous things will happen. It’s possible we will experience this land, our family and ourselves in spectacularly new and beautiful ways. It’s possible we will learn and be changed in ways that will help us and hopefully help our community.
We acknowledge it is a big privilege to be able to make this choice. As the outside air is too smoky to breathe and the world feels like it’s coming apart at seams, our intention is that this journey teaches us different ways of being resilient, kind, and brave. We trust the land, communities and people we connect with will change us in ways we can’t imagine.
In times of uncertaintly, Justin and I return to our marriage vows to keep us grounded. One of the vows we made at our wedding 14 years ago was the promise that amidst the sorrow and suffering that life brings, to make room for great joy. We made a commitment to be surprised by beauty and mystery and to love with wild abandon.
The words ‘joy’ and ‘wild abandon’ whisper to us through the fog of life. We are still practicing saying yes.
Comments