Show me the Way
The message is clear: wait
Lately I have been living life in what I am calling the magic middle. Think of it like a fork in the road but there’s this magical mist blanketing what is ahead. All lines are blurred with this spectacular dust. And lovely as all that sounds, I really just need to know: Is it this way or that way? Every time I try to push through I get smacked on the head with the same message. For the moment things are fuzzy and I need to accept what is in front of me, especially when I can’t see it.
I have spent many seasons hurling myself at the wall of change. Demanding and shouting, “I want it! I want this! Now let me in!” It seems like only silence fills the space between us. I’ve pushed and banged my fists against these familiar rough bricks. Seasons come and go but I’m still at the wall waiting. No matter how much I do or how many people I ask or how many resources I stack up, it’s never enough to reach the other side where the things I want exist. Many of my friends are looking for similar changes and all of them have made it to the other side before I do. Some of them multiple times over. I’m left thinking where is my ladder? Where is the hand to pull me up? Where is the door so many others are walking through?
In May I highlight a line from an essay by Alice Sparkly Kat that reads: You see, nothing changes when we try to force change. I scribble next to it: fuck! In June I write down my list of Big Griefs and draw wobbly thought bubbles around each one. I’m back at the foot of the wall in July. The Temperance card keeps coming up for me this season. I notice Ariella Elovic is haunted by the magic middle too. The message is clear: wait.
What will happen if I listen to the youth of my heart while I wait for change to let me in? While I’m waiting I could go to the pool, soak up the sun, and make a delicious sandwich. While I’m waiting I could read a juicy book, laugh with my sister, and share a meal with friends. While I’m waiting I could eat ice-cream, write thousands of words, watch old movies, and swap tender kisses. While I’m waiting I could send pictures to my grandma, run along the seashore, and get lost on a country road. While I’m waiting I could call my mom, eat popcorn at the theater, play with a kitten, and wave to the clouds from my seat on the plane.
One summer as a teenager I came to stay with my dad for a long weekend. I borrowed his old pickup to spend a day out on the family farm. I remember driving the long way through all the towns, letting memory be my guide. When it came time to turn off on the old dirt road, a wave of curiosity took over the wheel. I suddenly needed to know if I could remember the way to my grandmama’s house. She passed away many years before, taking with her the warmth and certainty of home. It makes sense to me now how little I know of following north because the only direction I trust is the visual path of my heart. With my foot on the gas I continue down the road searching for her in everything around me.
In August my memory guides me over the path once more as I gather material for my first substack essay. I turn on the layers in google maps and zoom in tight, dragging myself down the roads until I find what I remember. There’s a gas station to the left and the wide turn-off across from an old dirt lot of the fair ground. I search the map for my grandmama’s long bi-level home, finding it nestled into hills that run along a creek. I laugh at the name on the screen: Temperanceville. My husband will roll his eyes at my connection between the creek name and the tarot card and the implication this could be a sign and I will love him for that. Proof of what’s familiar. I continue to trace this worn pathway of my life over my laptop screen, pausing at the jumbled numbers of grandmama’s address. How heavy it feels on my tongue. I’m sure this won’t be the last time I speak of her or those days but I know this won’t always be the focus of what I choose to share. I’m simply at the beginning of things. I’m here at the start, making promises to myself to start telling the story.
Pool Sandwich
I think I’ve dreamt of this before. I follow a different path while my hands stay firmly on the wheel. I trust my young memory to guide me back to the landmarks of home. Was it real or was it a dream? Buried in there is a desire to drive down these roads once again as the woman I have become. I imagine I would roll the windows down to let the breeze run its fingers through my hair. I can feel my stomach dipping over each hilltop and the thrill of taking a curve a bit too fast as I try to remember something forgotten. I think I’ve been in New York for too long. But it’s never too far to come back home again.
I wake from a dream and all the details are still within reach. My husband and I are together, plopped in the middle of a crowded street. We are clinging tightly to the handle of a grocery shopping cart. Chaos surrounds us, revealing a maze of streets, road blocks, and aisles of clothes. My pulse begins to rise as a slow-choke panic settles over me. I don’t know the way out of the maze and I’m worried what my husband will think about me not knowing. I’m convinced I have to get us out. I have to get us home. We start pushing the cart together, looking up and down the streets, turning into a dead end of coats. Suddenly I’m climbing into the shopping cart. I settle down against the uncomfortable wire frame and lean my head back against my husbands hands. Without a word, he steers me through the maze, turning the cart this way and that. When we finally make it out, I wake up.
I love the endless interpretations from this dream. I notice the invisible weight I put onto my husband’s opinions, my childhood trust wounds, and the solidness of intimacy. It is fascinating how I can bring all of this with me into a magical place. What if my desire for change isn’t trapped behind a wall but instead is a path forward. All I have to do is turn around, climb in the cart, and trust someone I love to help me find the way.
What if my desire for change isn’t trapped behind a wall but instead is a path forward. All I have to do is turn around, climb in the cart, and trust someone I love to help me find the way.
During a summer visit to Oklahoma I borrowed my mom’s car for a few hours. I had time between plans and settled into the worn leather seat to go for a long drive. Under a big blue sky and picturesque clouds, I traced forgotten paths of my youth with fresh eyes. There is the route I took to high school and the neighborhood short cut to get to the mall. I drive past my babysitting jobs and that little hamburger place with excellent malt shakes. A crushing sadness bears down on me as I come to terms with the fact I will never be young and in love with this place again. I drive past the ghosts of best friends and boy friends and wonder where they are today. If all my firsts were their firsts too, surely that means there is still a tether between us.
It’s September, the cusp of another season. All my waiting has led me to somewhere unexpected: home. Home is the cottage. A wonderful blend of my husband’s elevated tastes and understated designs with my collection of nostalgia and vibrant warmth. Together we have created the best place to nurture our needs, our wants, our desires, and our dreams. Nothing is perfect and there is always a clear path to something better and something more. We could make a long list of less than ideal things about how and where we live. And yet it has been eight wonderful years and we choose to stay.
This is our home. This is our life. And for someone who so desperately is trying to change a part of it, I can say this is the one moment that I don’t want to change. Not yet, not for a while. I crave adventure and thrive in new experiences, so much so that my dreams and creations are always filled with what lies ahead of me. But for today, for tomorrow, for next week I want to stay right here in my home with my husband. I want to stay right here in the life we have built together. We have it all right here and right now. I’m praising the hard work we put into getting here. I’m blessing the material a bit too, but I love all that we have. This mix of objects and feelings. There is comfort in realizing we know how to build and achieve what we have right here. I know we can build this anywhere as long as we are together. We can do it all over again and again and again and again.
Jordan!!!!! 😭💖🌸💗💕🌷
i love you