Life’s Waves
Recalculating
Early April of 2010 was a strange time for me. My divorce had been finalized a few weeks before, I had given notice at my current school that I would not be returning the following year, I had just started falling for Brock and I was planning on moving to Seattle in June. I should have been in a panic. The life I was living had an expiration date. I didn’t know how I would make money or where I was going to live come June. I should have been scared of the unknown, especially since I am a planner by nature. Surprisingly, I was only slightly uncomfortable with the amorphous nature of my future. I think I was so relieved to have survived the divorce that I felt like I could accomplish anything.
I had been applying to school jobs online in the Seattle area, but I needed to visit the city in person to complete the background check needed to get my teaching certification in Washington. My friend and coworker, Carissa, was in a similar situation. She was ready to leave Georgia and wanted to move to the NW to go to graduate school. Like me, she had vague plans but nothing solidified. We decided to move against the spring break migratory patterns and visit Seattle that April. We planned on a combination of sightseeing and job hunting/ school searching while we stayed with my dad and his wife.
We rented a car and plugged in my GPS, which I packed since I had only been to Seattle once as adult (I was visiting Seattle the previous summer when I received the text that my husband had left). Now, if you are familiar with Seattle, you know there is an area through downtown where the interstate splits into 17 levels (okay, so maybe it’s more like 3, but it feels like 17). As Carissa and I were traversing that area in order to get from the airport to my dad’s house, the GPS instructed us to take a left turn from the top level where there was no place to turn. We ignored its command since we hadn’t taken out the extra rental insurance. A few moments later, the device announced, in a voice that sounded like a robot raised in Australia, “Recalculating.”
It became a common utterance of the GPS over the next week as we traveled around unknown areas. We laughed every time we heard that word and it became the theme of our week. I’m not sure if it was due to the excessive cloud cover in Seattle in the spring, our wrong turns, or divine providence, but I have never heard my GPS recalculate so much before or since. Carissa and I never became annoyed at the machine, we actually laughed harder each time it needed to recalculate. It wasn’t worth getting upset about. We trusted the GPS to get us there even if it took a different path than expected.
It was fitting, as Carissa and I were both recalculating ourselves during that trip. We went into the week with grand plans of interviews (for both) and university tours (for her). The reality? We went whale watching, took the underground tour, did the wineries, saw Vagina Monologues, listened to live music, visited the Pike St. market and hiked the foothills of the Cascades (every trip peppered with “recalculating”. We only made one future-related stop and that was to submit the fingerprints and other information for the background check in order to teach in Washington. Now, Carissa really wanted to take a break from teaching and become a full-time student. She was only applying as a back-up. Me? I had no desire to go back to school; I was applying to be able to bring in a paycheck.
Except I made the decision at the last minute not to complete the process.
My entire life, I have played it safe. I have always been conservative with career choices and money. I only took very calculated risks and generally only when I was okay regardless of the outcome. I’ve never been impulsive. I’m not one to fly by the seat of my pants. I am a planner to the nth degree. I find comfort and security in lists and spreadsheets.
But that week, I recalculated. I made the decision to put aside the plans (and, yes, spreadsheets) of the previous 8 months. I decided to shelve my preparations for a move to Seattle. I still don’t really know why I did it and I still can’t believe that I did. I chose to follow my instinct that spring rather than approach the situation more rationally. So, after traveling 3000 miles from Atlanta to look for employment in the NW, I started looking for Georgia jobs while seated on my father’s couch. Nuts? Absolutely. But, strangely, I felt calm about the decision.
Within a few weeks, I had a job in Atlanta lined up for the fall and I located an apartment. It’s a decision that I’ve never regretted but I still can’t fully understand. Yes, I had started seeing Brock, but that relationship was very young and we had no idea that it was going to persist. Honestly, at that time, I would have said that my need to escape from the memories of Atlanta was stronger than my feelings for Brock. So, why did I stay? What was it in that moment that allowed me to trust the GPS of my gut rather than the itinerary mapped out in my brain? I don’t know but I’m glad I listened.
It’s easy for us to try to fully plan our route through life. But sometimes, our vision becomes clouded or we make a wrong turn or divine providence intervenes and we have to recalculate. Sometimes we get upset when that happens. We want to get back on the planned route and continue the planned journey. We might get irritated at having our preparations interrupted.Yet, we never really know where a path will lead. Every journey has an element of faith. Sometimes we simply have to trust that a decision is the right one for us in the moment.
As a planner, I struggle with staying calm when things unexpectedly change. But now, when they do, I think back to that spring, Carissa and I laughing in the car, and my instinct leading me the right way. There’s nothing wrong with recalculating. Even if you traveled a long way to do it.
Now, if I could only go whale watching in Atlanta:)
Lost and Found
The best lessons can be found when we are facing unanticipated change and loss.
It is a moment between moments where we are lost and searching, broken and vulnerable, wanting and open. In those moments between moments we learn who we really are and what we are capable of.
Read the rest of my post on elephant journal.
Right This Moment
Since last April, my daily breakfast has consisted of a green smoothie: 1/2 a banana, frozen mixed berries, protein powder, cinnamon, vanilla, kale, spinach, almond butter, and almond milk. Prior to last spring, I consumed my pumpkin oatmeal every day for almost 5 years: oatmeal, pumpkin, blueberries, flax seed, protein powder, almond milk, and walnuts. I’ve loved the switch to the smoothie. It still fills me up until lunch and it helps me increase my consumption of leafy greens without the time commitment needed for endless salads. I’ve loved the smoothies. Until today.
Georgia welcomed its first real cold front of the season last night. I awoke to a cold house, the wind blowing through the cracks in the windows and reaching up through the floors to wrap itself around my ankles. I poured myself out of bed, wrapped my body in layers of rediscovered winter clothes, and went to make the coffee. While I was enjoying my coffee, I realized I was dreading my breakfast. Dread or not, I made my smoothie and drank it down, which led to a subsequent drop in my core temperature with accompanying shivers. I usually meditate after breakfast, but this morning that was replaced with a mad dash to a hot shower.
Those smoothies, in all their green-powered awesomeness, are perfect in the warmer months. But, perhaps, I need to recognize that just because something was right for me yesterday, does not necessarily mean that it is right for me today. I suppose I will need to revert to my pumpkin concoction for the next few months or invent a new breakfast. Spinach oatmeal, anyone?
Everything Has Changed But the Birthdate
I had to buy a new pair of shoes the other day. I visited a store where I have a shopper’s card that gives me coupons for each purchase made. The problem? I have no idea where the card has migrated to. At the checkout, the cashier asked if I was member. I replied, “Yes, but I have no idea where my card is.”
“No problem. We’ll just look you up in the system.”
Well, she didn’t know it yet, but that was certainly a problem. I knew that I had accessed the account and updated some information during the past three years, but I no idea what current combination lived in their system.
“Phone number?”
I gave her my number. No matches.
“Name?”
Again, I replied. Again, no success.
“Email?”
The machine responded, “No matches.”
“Address?”
At this request, My mind blurred. I’ve had five addresses in three years. I gave up.
Then, a flash. I realized that I hadn’t purchased shoes there since I received a new phone and accompanying number. I gave her my old phone number – the one I sought out after my husband left to provide a layer over my old life.
Success. It pulled up my married name, the address of my apartment that I got one year out from sudden singledom, and a temporary email that I used for a brief period.
Everything had changed but the birth date.
She updated the account with my current information. Which, other than the address, should remain fairly constant for the forseeable future.
It was a moment of reflection for me. I no longer identify with the woman that had those other data points. I am no longer the innocently married woman that carried his name. I no longer have that phone number that was sought out in the initial fear and desperation of those early days. I no longer live alone; I have now found a new and happy relationship. The email addresses I have now reflect the success of my new life with the writing and the coaching. And, as for the birth date, I will keep that one happily, for each year has brought more wisdom and gratitude than the one before.
Oh, and the shoes are cute too!
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 