Full Circle... Sort Of.

Five years later. *Chapter 83*

I walked over to the beach early this morning. I’m in Miami for 48 hours working a wedding, something that, if you’d told me I’d be doing this time last year, in the throes of some fit about “still waiting tables” I’d be delighted. I am delighted.

The warm breeze whipping through my hair made me glad I’d chosen not to wear the skirt I contemplated for approximately four seconds this morning. Why would I wear a skirt for a walk?

I took off my shoes and dug my toes into the sand just as the sun peeked over the waves. It’s really hard to walk in sand, my first thought. Holy shit the beach is amazing, my second. Several groups, a few solo humans and about 6 variations of the doodle breed, shared the beach with me. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. Wow.

Two days ago, while driving to my other job where I work at a Pilates studio, I had a glimmer. One of those moments that washes over you, drenches you in bliss and peace and leaves you feeling, at least for that second, as if all is completely as it should be. Like I was watching the movie of my life, a part of my soul simply observing it all without judgement or criticism, just complete, pure enjoyment. Total blissed out peace for exactly 3 seconds.

I’ve been reminding myself of the feeling since it happened. Is there really some deeply grounded piece of me that loves it all? The good and the bad? The whole entire ride. All the twists and turns, scary, shitty, amazing and beautiful??

I’ll Have This Cheese Please, by Bonnie Lynn Felton, lynnfelton.com

I stared at the ocean and started writing this essay in my head, swallowing the tears that were dying to escape my eyeballs. I wasn’t in the mood for crying but I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the desire to put words on a page and then share them. It’s something I think about a lot, our unique gifts and the need to express them. Why do we all have to be managers or bosses or celebrities? What if all we want is to sell soup in a tiny little shop in a tiny little village in Spain? Isn’t that plenty?

I’ve been remarking to myself how show-offy Miami is, how it’s not really my speed and it’s not (I’m much more Victorian heavy drapes and wool tartan) but still, watching humans be humans will never cease to please me. That we’re all out here trying so hard to convince the world and ourselves of who we are or that maybe actually we’re trying desperately to hide it, is so endearing. We really are a bunch of overgrown toddlers dying to scream at the top of our lungs and so frustrated that we’re not allowed.

from @lettersofnote

It’s been five years since the first lock-down started and I’ve been reflecting by rewatching the archive of Instagram stories I have since I used to post all the time. It’s the best I’ve ever been at journaling, this video diary of my day to day life. I’d just moved home a few weeks prior and accepted the fact that I’d be spending a little longer at my parent’s house than anticipated. I converted my childhood bedroom into a grown up apartment with a crafting desk, a meditation chair and of course, the bed I slept in as a teenager.

There was such a strong sense of anticipation and of not being able to do anything. I had no job, the cafe that had hired me, fired me before I even started. I’d left LA too soon to be able to collect unemployment. I was safe at home with my parents but worried for my friends isolated alone in big cities. Worried for everyone.

I planted dahlias and made a sourdough starter, watched the first season of Love is Blind and fretted for the woman who took her Zoom meeting into the bathroom and peed while everyone was watching because she forgot she was on screen. I made cocktails. A lot of them. I had it very easy.

I both loved being completely on pause and fantasized about being busy again. When I moved into my own place in Atlanta a year and a half later, the surge of readiness to re-enter the world carried me through another year and a half of waiting tables, a job I’d sworn off for fear of getting sucked back in. Inevitably, I was back in the vortex for a total of three years but I met my whole community and my amazing boyfriend. I found my favorite places and marveled at how much I love Atlanta. This place that was supposed to be my hometown, a city I had absolutely no concept of.

All desire to move back to California and even the longing to travel that had populated my 20s and 30s abandoned me as I let my roots grow deeper into Georgia red clay. The pause helped me see how I’d been stalling my happiness. For my whole adult life I’d been waiting for an audition or an agent or a break and I knew as soon as I got any of those, I’d finally be satisfied. When I learned that making myself a pour over coffee at 6 in the morning before anyone else was awake gave me a rush of joy I hadn’t allowed myself in all my years of waiting, I stopped waiting.

I let go of the dream I thought I wanted to be dreaming and woke up to a new life. A simpler life full of small pleasures and easy satisfaction. More living.

Five years later, life in my 40s is beginning to take shape. Loose ends are tying up. Seemingly insignificant fascinations from the past four decades are sprouting completely unexpected blooms. Like the dahlias I planted in 2020 that keep growing back every year even though I forget about them.

They come back every year and all I have to do is find them again.

I’ve been envisioning myself as a hot air balloon with ropes still tying it to the ground but what this past week has shown me is that I’ve also been deflated. I needed some air and heat to blow me up, make me buoyant again. Bring back a bit of the version of me who has big dreams but now with the understanding that I’m also currently living in one.

My Bridge Year, the one that started six months ago when I left serving for the final time, has been a rollercoaster. I set out very intentionally to remain open to new paths and have found myself heading down several. Staring at the waves this morning, I decided to fully surrender to the flow, let the world tell me who I am instead of desperately trying to convince it. Because honestly, who cares about who I am? Have you ever watched the sunrise over the ocean? Or typed words onto a screen and hit publish? It just happens. The waves flow in and out, the sun goes down, the moon comes up. Birds know to fly south and labradoodles are labradoodles.

The observer in me has nothing to say but holy fucking shit wow. With each breath, I’m inflating. There are surprises and sunrises all the time. I’m full of gratitude five years later having shed so many versions of myself, I’ve also returned to a few and I’m excited to watch this movie of my life unfold in so many wild and wonderful ways.

No list this week as I have consumed nothing but packing To Dos, Human Design courses and runs of show. When I tell you I am beat, holy crap, I’m not lying. I landed back home Sunday (the day I’m wrapping up writing this) at 9am and went straight into one of Atlanta’s most cherished fundraisers for Giving Kitchen, an organization providing aid to food service workers in need. It’s always a fun reunion for all of us in the Atlanta food industry and this year did not disappoint.

This essays feels a little incoherent and may have more proofreading mistakes than usual because the old eyeballs are shutting down. My feet are aching and my thighs are chafed but I had a really great, really busy week. I worked with incredibly inspiring people and I feel so excited for more. Now, before I yawn for the 1010th time, I’m going to bed.

Thanks for reading, have a great week! Talk to you again soon