Pretty Badass

There are still bits of dried mud on my cheeks from when I decided to plunge in with both hands. A dusting of crumbs on my chin from another handful of plantain chips. A flush of pink from a degree of immersion no sunscreen could have prevented. A film of DoTerra natural insect repellant from spraying myself in the face because those mosquitos hummed as deep as houseflies. I have swept my pack for ticks, put the sweat-damp clothes in the washer, processed the myriad ziplock bags of dried apricots, cheese, and toilet paper, and arranged what remains of my provisions onto a snack plate for one final meal. The only thing remaining between me, a hot shower, and my heavenly bed, is the story that wants to be told.

This is the story of a woman I am coming to love with all my heart. She is a woman who isn’t afraid to dive straight into the middle, to feel all of her feelings because she knows she can bring herself back, who has made understanding how to live with integrity her life’s work. She is a woman who has proven she is willing to let go of everything last thing that is most precious to her, so that she won’t lose herself. She is a woman who isn’t afraid to laugh loud, to swear with passion, and to sob openly. She understands that song, and dance, and poetry are life. Her love is big enough to know when to be cautious, when to apologize, and when to embrace. She is a woman with vision who breaks her heart over and over in the search for a soulful community to learn and serve with, but who refuses to give up. She is a woman curious and eager to learn all she can, who has already learned everything she needs to in order to be of service. And she is a woman who can shake herself off and begin again when she fails to remember and embody each and every one of these things.

I knew at the end of the second day of my somatic ecopsychology apprenticeship program that I couldn’t go home. This was the program that had been my anchor through months of turmoil, that had brought me to the Bay Area, and that had informed my choice of job and support system.  Everything I’ve studied, every friend I’ve made, every non-essential dollar I’ve spent, and every moment not dedicated to my livelihood has been dedicated to preparing for this program. Under a hefty expectation like that, anything would faulter. So when I arrived at my program to find only two other apprentices, a pains-takingly slow pace, disappointingly comfy outdoor amenities double-booked by a camping family, and my mind as mixed up in and distracted by the drama of my life as on any other day, it was clear to me I needed to figure out how to get what I came for.

“Where can I camp tonight?” I asked one of our facilitators.

“I can haggle with the family to get our reserved space back if you like,” he replied with gentle sincerity.

“I would rather go home than have the busyness of the world right next door,” I said with certainty. “That kind of defeats the purpose of staying out here to stay immersed in what we are building.” He went on to explain that it’s illegal to camp anywhere in the Bay Area and you need reservations and permits to car camp.

“I just want to spend the night outside away from people,” I persisted, surprised and annoyed we humans can’t just lie down in the grass and take a nap like every other animal on the planet.  “Isn’t there some place I can just walk to?” I hadn’t shopped and cooked for two hours, filled my pack, and motivated myself to sleep outdoors for the first time in a decade for nothing.

“Do you have a cold weather sleeping bag?” he asked. I nodded.

“A backpack?” he continued. I nodded again.

“Well,” he paused, “I do know of a place where no animals or people will bother you if you don’t take your tent or any food. It’s a bit of a trek…” He looked at me with that studied counselor’s gaze that was simply warmth and interest with any number of possible thoughts and feelings behind it. Was he worried? Trying to call my bluff? Amused? As he gave me directions, what surprised me most was my clarity – my complete lack of doubt or anxiety. I was going to find a safe place to park, hike up to the ridge, find a couple of bushes, and spend the night. And that’s exactly what happened.

After finding a beautiful spot, sheltered from the wind without too much poison oak or any visible ticks, I rolled out my pad and sleeping bag, emptied my bladder, tucked my headlamp, glasses, whistle, and phone within easy reach, and zipped myself in. As I watched the colors of the sky shifting through the branches as the sun sank, I was aware of a sense of complete peace. I felt no fear, vulnerability, or loneliness. I was simply aware of the bliss of having twelve hours without any human sounds. And of a complete absence of my usual preoccupation with putting others on a pedestal for their adventurous and fulfilling lives. I had accepted the invitation to step fully into my longing and so became my own inspiration.

I thought back to a conversation I’d had with a good friend the night before. I knew how many challenges I was facing with dignity, fortitude, and resourcefulness. I knew I was completely exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally. And I was still feeling trapped in an unrequited child’s fragile longing for comfort, love, and appreciation. I wanted someone who knew me to tell me where I was falling short, where I was abandoning myself, where I was failing to step fully into my life. And in her loving and no-nonsense way, my friend told me that what I was experiencing had nothing to do with anyone else. I needed to see myself with as much admiration as I see others. I needed to admit they are human and will never be able to love me the way that I need. And that perhaps I should not take everything so seriously.

As darkness fell, a familiar battle rose up inside me. I have sacrificed so much to get here, but I’m just back in another job and another home and another community that’s not deep enough or big enough. Why didn’t I travel when I had the chance? Why don’t I leave it all and do it now – backpack across Europe or hike the Apalachian trail. I’m courageous and resourceful enough to do it! But what has always stopped me rose again: I take that trip and then what? I’ll be right back here trying to build a sustainable life. I often have thoughts of big change when I have a moment of holding what I’ve longed for. But I’ve had plenty of adventures and I can continue to have them – come up to this ridge anytime I want to. Then I remembered the prayer I had been repeating since winter solstice about unseen forces supporting me in sharing my gifts. And then a line of song the facilitators had taught us that day drifted in: “Let things ripen, they will fall. Force is not the way at all.” I relaxed. This isn’t all up to me. I am doing everything in my power, far more than is even necessary, but so much is out of my control. I can’t manifest a job or community. I have always been the silk worm drifting downward, anchored by a single thread, to land where I am needed and just spin my work. “Just let go and you will see. The way to do is to be.”

Patience still isn’t my strong suit, but I’m getting better out of necessity. I tossed and turned all night from one uncomfortable position to the next, but I never felt anger or regret or despair. It was simply another experience that would pass. In the morning, I got creative about how to stay warm while I dressed, peed, and packed up, and took a moment to admire the sun sparkling on the bay beyond the hills. It was beautiful, but not extraordinary. I hiked back to my car feeling proud and confident, but mostly just normal, like myself on any other day. When I got back to our main site, everyone asked about my night and the facilitator who had encouraged me said he though what I did was “pretty badass.” I had to agree, and couldn’t deny my energy had awoken as a result

I shared in opening circle how much I feel like I’m holding myself back out of respect for the gentler energy of the space, how I want to talk and talk, and be big and loud. Instead of aliening me for my difference, I felt a greater sense of grounding and belonging after sharing. And when the group challenged me to embody big energy in my solo time, I found a lot of anger. I swore at the hills until my voice echoed back off the trees.

“I have already done and learned enough to be of service. Where is my community?! Where are my elders and my students?! I can see it so clearly – a place where people can meditate and serve together; and sit in circle to learn and share about living a soulful life; eat, sing, dance, and make art together. We need this and I have so much to offer to creating a sustaining such a place. Come to me – I’m ready!”

This is the only vision for my future that, like sleeping in the bushes along the ridge, holds no fear, and is big enough for me. For now, all I can do is love myself best I can, feed my vision, and share it with whoever will listen until the inevitable happens: I find myself living inside of that vision or I reach the end of my life. And either way, I will find home.

Nancy