Lightning hasn't struck me dead since last week. I still seem to be in one piece. The unspoken lifetime threat, "speak, and disaster will strike," has so far proved to be a lie, like so many others. Of course, it helps when by some measures your whole life has already been a disaster, or at least an unusual, unconventional, nontraditional jumble. The old, "when you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose" thing again.
So I'm shaky, but I have survived. It took three years of blog practice, but I told an important truth last week and I hope speaking out will only get easier and easier.
There are so many major tasks facing me, not the least of which is finding more permanent housing. But first things had to come first this fall, and right this minute I am focusing on the little accomplishments.
In recent years, on solstices and equinoxes, I've pulled a Tarot card to represent the energy of the upcoming three months. What did I pick Saturday but Queen of Wands? For me, she is the queen of passion and possibility, of being able (literally) to point to a goal and make things happen. To say, "I declare this" and it happens easily and quickly. May all women on this planet find that inner power this fall.
And in the last few days, I have just tried to notice when I am happy, and what makes me happy. The other night, I watched "Educating Rita," which I used to show as part of the Allegory of the Cave unit of one of my courses at the community college. (See my October 3, 2016 blog, "Liz's New Allegory.") I know this film "dead well," and love it. Afterwards, I found myself singing its faux-Thomas Arne fanfare music, and was told I sounded happy. Well yes, I was happy. I love seeing my beloved England in any form. I love English (-y) music. I love this story of a plucky "lower-class" woman who loses almost everything in order to gain an education and find herself. I allowed myself to trust, even for a few minutes, that it is valid to love what I love. It may seem like a simple equation, but it hasn't always been for me, as you may know from previous blogs. The music flowed exuberantly from my heart.
I also stepped out of my comfort zone to attend an event I wasn't sure I would like, and in a sense I didn't, but I might have made an important connection or two, and I learned more about navigating the city on weekends, by bus and on foot. The whole experience expanded me.
And finally, the "gales of November" came really early and we had a cold rain-wind-branches whipping off the trees-whitecaps visible on the lake from a mile away-kind of storm. I felt a distinct shiver. ("This is Duluth. We ain't seen nothing yet.") But my thankfulness for a warm, dry perch, friendships, and space to grow knows no bounds. Yes, I have survived. And I think maybe, even more than before, I am on the cusp of beginning to learn how to thrive. It continues to be one day at a time.
