On the Threshold

About a month ago I arrived home from a week long yoga retreat in Mexico. Even as I write this, it chagrins me how my privilege is on full display, especially in light of world events transpiring. But allow me to keep going, as my humble aim is to be honest when writing about experiences in mid-life. Although our paths look different, the journey is universal. I heard on a Brené Brown podcast once that mid-life is an actual developmental stage in adults and it’s critical we’re aware of the changes and challenges facing us in this stage of life. And I would add, let’s be open about it!

The theme of the yoga retreat was “Embrace the Edge,” taught by Fiji McAlpine of Do Yoga With Me. I started doing online yoga classes on this website back in 2016 (thanks to a tip by my sis Molly) and Fiji quickly stood out as my favorite instructor. When the yoga retreat was advertised in the winter of 2021 for the following year, I needed a ray of light and hope to grab onto…something to look forward to, hopefully post-pandemic. Even so, making a reservation felt indulgent and maybe reckless, with the future uncertain. Yet a giddy anticipation bubbled inside me by the act of committing to something I knew I would probably, absolutely, savor.

Molly and I decided that yes, we should book our spots and go for it. It was the best decision.

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This fall we headed to Boise to watch William run in a regional cross country meet. It was going to be a quick weekend, and I preferred to not sit in the car all day on Friday and Sunday with only one day of play in between. I’m a bit of a diva when it comes to avoiding physical aches and pains! So I booked a one way ticket from Portland to Boise on a Friday afternoon. William hitched a ride on Thursday with friends and Jason departed Friday morning with one of the dads. Lucky for me, that meant my luggage could ride in Jason’s car and I only needed to take my purse on the plane ride. The ability to move through security, walk through the airport, board the airplane, get seated – unencumbered by a roller board felt absolutely liberating!

When the plane landed in Boise, we deplaned down the stairs outside. Even passengers with carry-on bags had to “check” them at the gate because the overhead bins were small. Lots of people had to wait outside the plane while their carry-ons were unloaded. Not me – I sailed by the crowd and strode out to meet my ride. I felt so carefree, and yes, lighter.

What does it mean to travel light at this stage of life? It’s something I think about often. No one gets to mid-life unscathed. It’s part of the journey of being human. Although our problems and suffering are individual to each of us, the struggle is universal. By the time we reach mid-life, we are carrying around a backpack that is stuffed with experiences – the good, bad, and in-between. The ordinary and extraordinary. The successes and failures.

Sometimes, that backpack can feel mighty heavy. It’s up to us to pause from time to time and unpack it. Sift and sort and discard. Because if we don’t, the heft of that backpack can become painful, even unbearable, and negatively impact our wellbeing and those around us. They see us metaphorically hunched over and shrinking under the weight, and it’s usually a detriment to us and our relationships.

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Last month I was in Southern California to drop my daughter off for her junior year of college. Lucky for me, beloved friends I met in college still live in the area, so visits to SoCal always fill my bucket in more ways than one. After her work day, one of my friends invited me to go to an AKT class with her (she likes to try new fitness trends, of which there is no shortage of in Southern California!) I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I’m always game for a new physical challenge, so of course I said yes.

When we arrived, the instructor “Chelsi” personally greeted me and was dressed head to toe in 80’s exercise garb, including “Let’s get physical” splashed across her bodysuit. I smirked inside, remembering how Santa gave me that Olivia Newton John album in 5th grade. Chelsi informed us it was 80’s week, hence her “costume.” The class turned out to be a super high energy aerobics class that kicked my butt. Waayy harder than the aerobics classes I took in the late eighties and early nineties…or maybe it’s just that my muscles are now 50 years old! She cranked the 80’s tunes for the entire hour and taught us (not so) simple choreography the last half of class. Even though I was sweating bullets and gasping for breath, a huge smile plastered my face the whole time. When the disco ball sprinkled its shimmery lights everywhere for the “last dance,” joy was literally bubbling up inside me. The novelty, the familiarity, the music, the endorphins, the zero expectations….all of the above made me feel giddy in a way I hadn’t for a very long time.

Joy truly does show up unexpectedly. We just need to be ready and receptive. 

Earlier in the summer that was not my posture. At all.

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Letting go. Or as Elsa belted out in Frozen “Let it go!” How many times have we heard that phrase in our lives? Personally, I used to hate this phrase. Too simplistic. Too trite. And if I let go, that would mean I didn’t care. Which wasn’t true, usually. Let’s face it, it’s hard to let go, especially to something that has served us or benefited us in some way.

But when we find ourselves in liminal space, aka the waiting room, actively waiting (seems like a paradox) can actually help us. Letting go is a practice, not a “one and done” mic drop. Letting go can feel like a death of sorts when we release anything or anyone that we have clung to. It can feel painful, sad, weird, uncomfortable. It’s a loss of control. I have heard letting go described as self-emptying. Ponder that.

While the practice of letting go can feel like grieving, it helps widen our field of consciousness. Makes us more expansive. It creates space for newness. We can learn to cultivate an awareness and courage to recognize an opportune moment. It helps us get ready and stay ready for what is next.

Letting go provides us new opportunities, new learning, new ways of seeing, new relationships. Honestly, it’s the beginning of transformation.

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The inspiration for this title sprang from a phenomenon I observed while hiking through Tice Woods at Rotary Nature Preserve a couple of weeks ago. I feel so lucky this nature park is a 5 minute walk from my house, and I regularly indulge in “forest therapy” on the trails here. However, there was a massive ice storm in our area over Valentine’s Day weekend and hundreds of trees splintered and many toppled completely under the weight of the ice. My beloved nature park, along with other parks in our town have been officially closed with all the downed trees. The last month I have ventured over there a few times, carefully picking my way along the trails that are unobstructed; I just couldn’t stay away from my neighborhood forest.

I noticed these brilliant snow-white blooms on this fallen tree and they stopped me in my tracks. How is it possible for a tree to bloom when it’s downed? How does something grow when it’s  supposedly cut off from its life source – the roots nourished by the rich earth? I’m no botanist, or even remotely gifted in science, so instead of trying to figure out the answer, I simply marveled and pondered. Nature often provides me solace and a reminder that all living creatures are resilient. Just like this fallen tree, we, too, can “bloom” even if we feel broken.

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