Today, on the way from dropping Barton off at a workshop, I stopped at my favorite café. I had anticipating a delightful morning by the window sipping a caramel latte while writing and reading. When I walked in the door, however, it was like walking on a different planet. The floor was shaky.
Had I arrived at the right place?
The décor had completely changed, a wooden counter where the pastry display had been. Chic gray paneling installed. White tables instead of wooden ones, in different shapes. New Chairs. No music. A different menu. Even the condiments counter had been removed. A family had skipped in front of me in line, and my nerves prickled.
This was not the experience I thought I was going to have.
A similar experience had happened after visiting Tuscaloosa, AL, where I had lived for over 8 years, two weeks after an F-5 Tornado had burled its way through town. The house I had lived in was still standing, but in the surrounding streets, huge trees crashed through many houses, and many lots were left bare. In my own neighborhood, I turned in the wrong direction trying to find my way. I was lost.
Lost.
In my own neighborhood. In the café.
Evolution and change can create this disorientation as we are trying to find our barrings, grasping on that anything familiar that would lead the way. Tell us where we are.
In times like these, both letting go and grounding becomes a foundational point.
How do we do that when it all feels so unnatural, so disjointing?
Every being, everything in life evolves, changes, grows. Houses are build, lives lived in, and houses fall down, crumble back into the earth. Seedlings begin in hibernation, crack open and burst through the grown, and the fresh green leaves will also wither brown and die. And so, too, do we evolve, change over time.
When experiences feel so drastic and dramatic, we can resist change and transformation, trying desperately to get back to what we knew. Who we were. The familiar. And yet, we must let go, we must adapt. We are impacted directly and indirectly from the changing from everything that is happening outside of us and within us.
Spend time in this place. Take a breath. Spend time in this place, even with all of its un-comfortableness. Take a breath. This is new ground to explore.
What is not serving to you in this place, and is in need of letting go? What do you need to remember in this place? What is going right in this space?
Breathing can bring us back to your bodies, to what we know, even with the moment seems off. Finding our breath, listening to our heart beating, we are alive in this moment. We are here. Right here.
Writing exercise:
Sensory experiences can bring us back into the moment. Write for 5 minutes, becoming aware of each sense, one at a time. Let sounds come to you. What do you hear? What does the chair, floor, or ground feel like (tactile touch). What is the taste of the air? We spend most of our time in sight, what is something that you see that have not noticed before. What emotions bubble up from the skin?
Writing Reflection: What do you know, without a doubt?
Hint: In times of volatility and change, in times when we feel lost, it’s easy to slip into not knowing. But we know more than we think we do. It may be that – we will always be okay, we are strong, we are resilient, we bounce back. We have resources within ourselves. It may be an acknowledgement. I know this sucks. It doesn’t feel good. I hurt. It may be a gratitude. I know the sun will rise tonight. I know the storm will pass. Lots of ideas to play with here.
While the center has shifted, there is always a center to return to.
“Lost” a poem by John Wagoner with David Whyte from Grant Taylor on Vimeo.
Megan Cutter, Barton Cutter, or Cutter’s Edge Consulting do not provide any medical advice. You should always consult your physician to discuss specific symptoms and conditions. Please see Terms of Use, Privacy Policy, and Coaching Disclaimer & Liability.
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