Slowly, ever so slowly, the writer in me stirs. Shaking off the blanket fort she has been hunkered down in for the summer season. Emerging blinking into the light. Slowly she attempts to make sense of her surroundings again. Change has swirled through the air, the routine has shifted again and this new world seems to offer more light, more space, more openness in which to begin the dance again. Dust spots move through dappled sunlight coming through the windows and ever so gently she begins to move. 

I’ve been sitting in IKEA cafe all week calling forth the writer from her cave in the back of my mind. Remembering she is needed to process all that is going on around me. These last two weeks I have felt my body begin to unwind, to start to breathe deeply again, unfurling from the tightly held holding on I’ve done for the last 9 months, and the last month in particular. Fears of school not working out, fears that we would be alone in this country with nothing for the boys to be part of, irrational fears and rational fears held my body tense. I felt I had to hold onto all the parts all the time. These last two weeks have been about letting go. I can let the pieces fall to the ground, the roof will not collapse. I can let my arms drop, my shoulders fall, I can breathe deep and stop holding on, stop clenching my jaw tight. I can unfurl again. 

I am not in control. I can let go. I am not in control. I cannot hold all things together to make them be ok. Life does not work like this. I cannot stop the bad things happening. I am not in control. Oliver Burkeman and his excellent 4000 weeks book reminds me that I am finite and small. Ecclesiastes reminds me that everything is vapour, the good, the bad, and therefore I live and dwell in this time, this present, not the past or the future, but now. I cannot control life and it’s outcomes. I am reminded that I believe less in a divine storyteller and more in a divine companion. Someone else is with me, not making all the pieces fit or work out in the ways I want, but here with me, helping me breathe, reminding me that I stand loved in this place. I am loved. I am here. I am not in control. 

I think about community and the many different facets it has. I stare at my dream of local community, being able to find a church that fits, people to hang out with, a school for the boys and space, land and outdoors all in one place. I realise that vision is just one expression of community. Community can be found in many forms, local can mean many things and maybe in this season we are finding a web of community that extends across this land, a web which has touch points in places near the boys school, near Corrymeela, near our actual house, near other places yet to be discovered. Oliver again helps my brain remember that to do the things we want to do we have to sacrifice other things because we cannot have it all or do it all. We sacrificed a deep sense of local community to come over here. But we can find other ways to express community, we can accept that travel is part of the web, we can see the good in this life rather than wish we had everything and the moon on a stick (there’s an old 90s comedy reference for you…points if you know where it comes from..). 

I am excited about the next step into finding land to be nourished on and to nourish others from. I am excited about the dream of family together working alongside each other. I am so glad we came across to hang out with my sister in law, nephew and father in law. I would not change that for the world. I am excited about this carving life together, the sense of team we have. 

I’m also over excited because I have swam in the sea everyday this week and my nervous system seems excessively happy as a result. It turns out all those people who rave about it so much are right. I kind of wish they weren’t, but they are. It’s crazy how joy filling getting in cold water each morning is. This morning doing it with a new friend almost made my endorphin levels go over board, connection, being outdoors, cold water and a cuppa in the van after. My cup runneth over.

In the midst of the joy I sense fear again. I don’t know what the future holds. This good feeling may disappear soon but I refuse to let foreboding joy rob me of this present. I am here.

Hello to now.