Riding the Wave of Transition

I am riding the wave of transition. Moving from one life into another. I know what I am moving away from, and I know the critical elements of what I am moving towards, but it would be a lie to say that I have a clear picture of where I am going. I know that I am moving towards a life where value and worth are measured by who I am and how I connect (with people, with the earth, with spirit), and away from a life measured by what I do (accomplish), how much I have (or don’t) and how independent I can prove myself to be.

I know that I am choosing to measure abundance in sunshine, relationships and possibilities, rather than in dollars. I recognize, indeed have already experienced, that this will not always be a socially acceptable measure. I accept that. Life is a continuing series of choices and trade-offs. I am trading the freedom of what money could buy for the freedom of choosing how I live, without basing it on the ever-present shadow of needing to earn yet more.

It has been an intense two year ride of transition . . . and I continue to ride that wave.

Two years ago I was finishing up a master’s degree, working full time, and beginning my coaching certification. I was aspiring, potentially, to be an executive in the Public Service, or a high-priced free-lance consultant. I was essentially qualified to pursue either one and hadn’t decided yet which had a greater call. Either way, it was a continuing quest for success – always focused on what was next, rather than where I was in the moment. In the moment, I was still hurting from the relationship that dissolved mid-way through my studies . . . . but I didn’t have time to stop and grieve it – I had too much to do.

I have self-identified as having “too much to do” for as long as I can remember. Frequently overwhelmed, and for the last several years, making constant apologies for being unable to attend to the relationships in my life the way I wanted to. I was startled and a little horrified to discover that many people in life agreed on the word “driven” to describe me – so out of touch with myself that I didn’t notice how my natural enthusiasm, passion and focus had turned into a force that was driving me.

The turning point came for me that summer as I finished my studies. Two days after sending in my final paper, I left for a one-month vacation. In anticipation of completion, I had registered to spend an entire month at Hollyhock Retreat Centre on Cortes Island as a Karma Yogi (a work exchange guest). That month was transformational. I discovered quiet like I had not experienced in my adult life. I found stillness within as well as around me. I will never forget sitting on the beach and realizing that the thwapping sound I was hearing was the whoosh of wind under the wings of the great birds as they flew over-head.

Over the course of that month, I slowed down – my movement slowed, my speech slowed, and even my thoughts slowed down. What a relief! I discovered what it was to measure days by
the sun, not by a computer screen or alarm clock. I experienced falling into bed pleasantly tired at the end of a day of physical work, rather than spiritually exhausted from a day of buzzing around an office, fighting bureaucratic fires. Quite to my surprise – I found home.

My body knew it quite quickly . . . my mind was a little slower on the uptake – I didn’t see
how it would be possible to live on this small island. I still don’t fully see . . . but I trust and one day at a time, I am doing it.

Nine months after my experience at Hollyhock, I left my job as a Public Servant (technically on leave, but we all knew I wasn’t coming back), and my life in Vancouver and moved up to Cortes Island. The last year and a half, from that pivotal experience to this moment, has been a series of synchronicities, turning points, challenges and little deaths. It has been filled with joy, possibilities and the grieving of letting go.

I settled into the community quite quickly, getting involved in the local forests protection group, and serendipitously landing the job as “manager” of the Friday Farmers’ Market. (Really, this is a political appointment - I still think I got paid to get to know my community). By the end of summer I was selling gluten-free baked goods at the Sunday market and feeling pretty settled in.

In the fall, I began the merry-go-round of trips back to Vancouver, following my plan to be a consultant that lived in paradise, but worked in Vancouver. It was more than a little nuts – and a lesson in how deeply ingrained my ‘busy-ness’ patterns were. A dear friend commented one day on “how important” I seemed, since I was always so busy. It was humbling.

Just as I began the merry-go-round, I also moved into a cosy little cabin 20 feet from the ocean. My stuff moved in several weeks before I actually did. It has been a privilege to be based from this cabin over the winter – though, truly, I have spent far less time here than I would have liked. I have treasured every moment I have been here, however. This winter I learned to chop wood and dig for clams in my ‘front yard.’ I also learned to be ok with going days (weeks) at a time without “working” . . . watching my guilt and shame stories play out about work ethic, productivity, responsibility. I discovered, in watching those stories, how truly I have been defining myself by external measures: productivity, accomplishment, money . . . .

Cortes is known to many as the island of transformation, or the island of death. (Metaphorically, not literally) Over and over this year I have been called to surrender my ego to the flame – to allow my identity to die little deaths. It has been both painful and liberating. It is a journey of letting go of attachments – both of external material things and, perhaps more painfully, of stories and beliefs.

This spring has demanded of me a deep cleaning of my life – of my spirit, my beliefs, and my belongings. Last weekend I had my storage locker delivered to my girlfriend’s house, where
I sorted through and sold off treasured belongings that I hadn’t seen in two years. What I realized was that it wasn’t the things themselves it was hard to let go of, but the stories I had attached to them; dreams of what my life could be with them, stories about who I am with them, and as a result, who I am not without them.

Many times through the selling process, I questioned my sanity, my choices, this path that I am on. I wrestled with the question of WHY and WHAT IF over and over. And ironically, as I returned home to Cortes, I looked at the boxes in my car that I did keep – and was startled to find my overwhelming urge was to seek out a match. I am exhausted by my stuff. I don’t want to carry any of it anymore. I find myself envious of those who truly live out of a knapsack or a suitcase. It seems so much lighter.

After a day of rest, mind you, I was ready to deal with the boxes in my car, and delighted to set up my copper table (a family piece I have promised never to part with). I accept that things change every day.

When I chose to move to Cortes I set in a motion an energetic domino effect. I let go of my regular income, surrendered any guarantee of year-round housing, and got off the hamster wheel. In choosing to stay on Cortes, I am choosing to continue down the rabbit hole I have opened. This month, I am ending my relationship with credit, and choosing a simpler life, truly within my means.

I continue to be connected to the consulting community that I joined in Vancouver, but on revised terms. I bill at a much lower hourly rate so that I can work from home – rather than on the road. It turns out that I don’t need so much when I live simply on a remote island.

I don’t know what will come next on my path . . . . but I am open to it, and curious to see what will unfold.