Last week was filled with a tornado of different experiences. I was taking fertility medication and experienced some rather fascinating emotions. I also found out, about 15 minutes before I was going to an improv evening that I had been looking forward to for over a month, that I had lost my dear friend to cancer.
My friend was and still is an absolute force to be reckoned with and the impact that she has on the lives of those who knew her (and those who didn't) is powerful.
She taught people to stand their ground for what they believed in and to do the right thing even if it means ruffling a lot of feathers. She had this incredible ease and joy and lightness even when it was heavy. She was an incredible inspiration for so many.
I had recently gone to Tijuana to visit her during her treatment there and at the time things seemed to be heading in a very positive direction for her. With a turn of events though after that, it became clear, there wasn't much time left.
When I heard the news, I was in shock. I thought about whether or not I would go to the improv evening and in that moment a flash of her laughter and her beautiful smile crossed my mind and so I went.
I felt the shock and I soaked up the laughter and the present moment as much as I could. The next day it all settled in and tears came along with a psychic storm of thought.
During this storm, I reflected on an article by my colleague, mentor and friend, Rohini Ross, that spoke about how try as we may, we cannot find the security we long for outside ourselves.
When I read that, I saw how I had been trying ever so sneakily to tame life, to make it bow at my command, to get it all to fit in a pretty box with nice bows so that I could feel safe.
It was invisible to me that I had been doing this, and I saw how much energy I was actually using in that effort.
Last week was a recipe for seeing how impossible it is to tame Life.
There was no taming of it. I felt the shift in my moods from the change in my hormones, I felt the grief pour through me and out of me, I felt the joy and the laughter of the improv evening.
Somehow I felt comfort underneath it all, but the comfort I felt was not from the illusion that I could tame any of it. The comfort was and is in seeing that I can experience it all and be ok.
The next day, I went to a community group that meets by the ocean each week. I shared the grief and the psychic mess that felt like a storm settling in over the ocean. I shared wisdom and laughter and love.
I left that gathering feeling a deep sense of peace and calm along with the grief. I had shared it all, I hadn't tamed it the way I once might have, and all was well.
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