I just discovered the most wonderful phrase: to "dree our weird." I guess it is Scottish, and basically means to align with our fate or our destiny, although some of the listings I saw were a little more along the lines of "put up with your lot." I prefer the former, of course. I never knew that "weird" could be a noun, but it is.
Thinking back, when did I part with my weird? It was pretty deliberate and pretty well timed, if astrologers are right that most of us experience our first Saturn return at around age 27. That's when I said, only men and boys' choirs sing the music I love, mostly in England, so I'm going to deep six both of them immediately and completely. To use the sailboat analogy that I have used before, it's like I pushed the tiller sharply away from me, came about on a dime, and headed in the opposite direction. I wasn't a bad skipper. I paid close attention to new stretches of water and the landscapes on shore, and at least early on, easily survived being becalmed as well as being buffeted by gales. I enjoyed friendly fish and birds, and I stayed afloat, learning numerous new skills and meeting new people. I covered a heck of a lot of territory. But "anything but the thing(s) you love" is not a destination. It's not a strategy. For a while it may protect the heart, but eventually it breaks your heart. And while it may play a role in a really interesting "weird," it is not itself the destiny. One day a few years ago, probably around the time of my second Saturn return, I finally caught a glimpse of my guiding star, and came sharply about again. Trying to follow it and get back to an older woman's version of the original path has been outrageously challenging as my readers know. My boat is battered, holding the tiller straight in strong winds has taken all my strength, sea monsters and mirages have beset me, and mists have periodically clouded my star. Despite it all, I'm getting there. I'm weirder (and closer to my weird) than I've ever been, and I'm really proud of that.
I've been revisiting Sharon Blackie's If Women Rose Rooted, and she notes that "...this long, arduous Journey requires endurance, stamina and focus...The path will vanish behind you: there's no way back now." (page 154) That is so, so true. To use my sailboat metaphor, I couldn't at this point go back and retrace the steps of my long detour even if I wanted to, although like many old salts, do I have tales to tell! But this skipper is only sailing in one direction now -- forward, aligned with my weird.
