It’s been two months since I left the tiny bubble of Mallorca and tore open my life for anything conceivable to enter. In that time a lot has happened.
I woke up rolling amongst sheets and pillows this morning, my cat stretched out against my back in his feline slumber, a cool summer humidity hanging in the air. Last night I had promised myself to take an early morning walk around the village I call home for the last few days so I step out onto the aged hardwood floor and softly pad barefoot down into the kitchen to make warm lemon water, refill the cat bowl with food and open the back door to the garden.
A whoosh of fresh sticky air from a night of opaque rain infuses the room as I fill the kettle with just enough water for my drink — a supposed energy-saving trick a friend of mine had shown me — and pour some filtered water and then hand-squeeze half a lemon into my thermos mug while I wait to fill the rest with hot water.
Back upstairs with my mug, I wash my face and spray it with lavender hydrosol. The only thing that keeps my sensitive skin from flaring up in protest against the constant climate changes I render it to. A light cover of bb cream, mascara and blush later I continue sipping on my morning lemon concoction as I shimmy into an old pair of Levi’s that have been worn too loose from wearing and a soft grey men’s sweater and pick up my phone to go back downstairs to slip on brown loafers, pick up my basket with purse and keys waiting inside, coax my cat back in before locking the back door and depart from the front.
It is a grey July day. Not so much summer as I know it but I appreciate the rainforest vibes of this green British isle while the world is burning in other parts.
Morning walks before the world is fully alive bring about a different kind of peace. Ones that make my thoughts feel clearer and more certain than at other times.
As I walk I remember the panic attack I had on the northern line tube in London this day a week ago.
As soon as I stepped into that car I felt it. It was hot, the air stale and stifling. I could not, did not want to, breathe it in. The people around us, big and filling up all the space. My companion watches me freeze and recoil at my environment, panicked and unable to move or communicate. He asks me if I want to get off and I say “No, I just want to get there,” as I gasp for small pockets of air wishing I could hold my breath until I can come back up from underground. At our station, I rush out through the barriers focused on the open space and trees outside and cross the road without looking back. Finally free, I immediately burst into big, heavy, body-shaking sobs.
Removed from the intensity of that moment on my walk I notice how sensitive my body is to subtle emotional changes and thoughts as they stream through my subconscious.
On the surface level, my response was simply a small moment of claustrophobia, enhanced by the heat and crowds and the very strong coffee I had had earlier adding a backdrop of anxiety to my day. Deeper, it was a cosmic blend of fear, feeling out of control, overwhelm and grief bubbling over from within me that I could no longer hold in.
It’s been two months since I left the tiny bubble of Mallorca and tore open my life for anything conceivable to enter. In that time a lot has happened.
I have moved twice and am about to move a third time, my cat in tow. I met someone and am slowly falling in love. He has asked me to move to Bangkok with him on account of his work. Which I am willing to do. And with that, I am grieving: a) the end of a life that was entirely my own for the past few years; b) having to relocate my cat with a friend for some time and being parted from him; and c) feeling a lot of fear and loss of control because it’s all happened so fast. Meanwhile, continuing my work with private clients, my 4-week writing course, and my annual mentor training that is opening again for enrolments in September. It’s a lot.
I stop to pick up a flat white and flirt with the cute barista at my favourite coffee shop, and then walk through town to pick up raspberries, strawberries and cherries at the market stall before heading down to the river.
Change always takes a toll and I have a lot to integrate.
Two people choosing to merge their lives to run parallel to each other is imperfect and messy. Each has their own set of habits and coping mechanisms. When emotions run high our uglier parts are revealed and it takes tremendous courage, compassion, respect and patience to hold space for one another. Relationships are enriching and challenging.
I walk past the narrow boats and then take a sharp right up the hill back to the cathedral that dates back to 600 A.D. and a gothic time of medieval mystery.
I know everything will turn out exactly as it must. I need to get out of my way and let go of the illusionary notion that I am in any way in control. I need to breathe space and trust into what is happening and remember that I asked for all of this in my dreams and prayers. I need to remember what I am.
The universe expressing itself through the kismet life form that I am.