On the Threshold

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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*I wrote this a couple of days before my birthday…and naturally struggled with the technicalities of getting this blog up and running. So, here I am a few weeks later. That’s okay. The hat I’m wearing is a party favor from my friend Susan’s 50th birthday party 2 years ago. I may journey through this “born to be 50 tour” all year.

Happy birthday to me. Today I turn 50 years old. 

In 2011, on my 40th birthday, I sailed around the Cape of Good Hope, South Africa, while working as staff on Semester at Sea. The ocean was fierce and seasickness roiled me the majority of the day. It was a small price to pay for adventure – we had just spent 6 incredible days in Cape Town where I vowed I would return in 10 years for my entire birthday month (obviously did not happen!) My fellow LLC (Living Learning Community) staff and kids surprised me with a cake and singing at the pool deck. 

Twenty years ago, turning 30, I celebrated at the Greek Cuisina in downtown Portland with my husband and dear family. As I was 5 months pregnant with my first child, there were no toasts with Ouzo, but we danced to a lively band and threw white plates to the floor to watch them shatter, which I guess is a tradition in Greece, or at least at that particular Greek restaurant. 

Back in 1991, I honestly do not remember my 20th birthday at the University of Redlands. But I can guarantee you it likely involved drinking red solo cups full of foamy beer with the Friend Lottery, amazing women I have the privilege to still be friends with to this day.

This new blog, On The Threshold, is my gift to myself. And to anyone who wants to read it and perhaps learn something, or feel something, or do something because of my words. Or not, and that’s okay. My spiritual journey has not been linear, and I suspect other people’s isn’t either.

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