Here we are, you and I.
Here we are, in the midst of this (beautiful, natural, inevitable) summer expansion.
Expansion that can bring us to the very edges of ourselves and, sometimes, beyond.
We explore more, adventure deep and wide, overstretch, go too far, spend too much (time, energy, money), reach out to family and friends, go along with, talk longer and fill the extra-long days as our bodies overflow with the sun's energy, pulsing within and without.
Here at this tenuous limit, my edges feel ragged.
Even in the presence of so much beauty and blessing, this fullness has me weary and worn, tossed and tussled, as essential parts of me--needs, intuitions, yearnings--have here and there slipped between the cracks of my days.
When you or I find ourselves here, it can feel like we've made a big mistake.
Or chosen the wrong choice.
We can grieve for the parts of us we've neglected along the way.
We can blame our partners, our friends, our world and ourselves for things being the way they are and not how we envisioned.
We can be more quick to resent, defend and take things personally.
I don't use them often, so when the words "overwhelm" and "stress" come to my lips repeatedly as they have this past month, I sit up, and I pay attention.
I put my ear to the ground of my being.
And as I listen more deeply, I am leaning into the truth that this is one of the teachings of this potent season:
That these never-ending days (with not enough sleep and too much of all the people and all the things) are when we enter the liminal space of becoming.
This is where we gather the information our souls need, to be able to recognize how our boundaries have changed, and our desires deepened, since our last expansion.
This is when all of our inward journeys of the cold months find their way outward and take unexpected forms.
This is when we return to familiar places with the newest parts of ourselves and discover if we can still see our own sacred reflection.
And, that this is how we begin to get a new sense, a fresh inkling of what we need, and what we want the container of our life to look like, feel like, smell like and flow like now.
So for me, I sense this time isn't about clarity, even though it is about vision.
It's not about figuring out what to do, so much as being radical in my recommitment to be.
And to be me.
It's about cancelling fun plans with people I love, to do nothing. By myself. Even though it feels uncomfortable.
It's about finding a way to go to bed early, and bravely and lovingly asking for quiet when I need it.
It's about driving two separate cars on a trip North so that I have freedom and space and breathing room, even though it seems silly and wasteful.
It's about claiming time to write you this note, coming back to it several days in a row as my breath and nourishment, pouring my heart and soul into each letter and comma, to extend to you hope and healing, because it is hopeful and healing for me too.
What is it about for you? I'd love to hear.
And so, a bow to the sun for all of its wild teachings.
A breath of trust and comfort to you in the midst of it all.
And a soft hand to the heart as we inch toward autumn.
Love and more love,
P.S. Do you feel like you're living on the outskirts of your soul-self? Are you caught in indecision, and yearning for that place of deep knowing that brings light to your eyes and tingles to your skin? I'd love to hold your heart and your hand and go with you there. Learn more about 1:1 Guidance + Mentoring sessions here.