A gentle breeze of forgiveness rolls through the desert as I stare across to the horizon line, where the setting sun kisses the beaten sand.
I am sitting in my rocking chair with my head tilted to the side, pushing my own butt back and forth on my tip-toes. I keep pace with the beat of summer hope in my head, a gentle humming from my lips and an easy grip on my Polar Seltzer can.
My head rocks to the other side in a thinking pose. I thumb my fingers on the cold aluminum can. It will be two months since I’ve been in Tucson, Arizona.
Since I’ve moved here, I’ve joined a run club,
reconnected with old friends,
made new ones,
learned how to roll a perfect burrito,
discovered the incredible wonder of desert plants,
climbed seven mountains,
started waking up early and reading more (and more and more!),
and determined that beef lengua is an under-rated delicacy.
I guess I won’t be withering away in the desert here alone.
My experiences plus the people and places here keep me surrounded by good vibes. So it seems that the Sonoran desert's sharp saguaro-like arms have opened to my cold Boston character. The desert sun too is cracking into the shell of the life I had been trying on before my move here.
Surprisingly, what I thought would be a slow experience of creeping back into the comfort of my salty New England life with familiar faces was completely flipped on the head. The decision to move to the desert has budded what has felt like a thriving, vibrant opportunity drumming up through the cracks of my heart.
How could the desert bring me so much joy? And most baffling, how had I ever believed all the things people told me about myself, and my own decisions?
At 29 years old, something snapped. I just grew up like one of those time-over-time film progressions of trees altering throughout the seasons. I broke that approval-seeking cycle. I saw true support from friends and new faces here. It became utterly clear that this deliciously cultured and relentless place had something to teach me, and I was to follow my instinct to remain.
The move also brought me a deep sense of peace. No more angst, anger, resentment, fear, and self-pity. No more living in the shadows of unspoken could-be’s.
The choice to be here molded to me. It zapped the negativity from my core.
I committed to the work needed to rip myself from my childhood roots and re-pot myself somewhere new.
Here are a few things I’ve learned since I re-potted my life in the desert:
- We can do hard things.
2. We can find abundant joy in the emptiest of places and people when we take a moment to search for it.
3. We need to do what we need to do to be happy.
4. No one can or should be your everything — period.
5. Each of your friends has something to teach you, show you, or give to you. Package your gift and deliver it with love.
6. Imposter syndrome doesn’t go away. Check-in — what is making you feel small? If it gets bad: Ask for praise. Reflect on praise. Give yourself praise. Repeat!
7. You only need a few good friends to feel at home.
8. Being new or doing something new works a different brain muscle.
9. It isn’t that you weren’t enough, it is that he/she didn’t have what it took to love you the way you deserve and need* to be loved.
*On needs: It is never that you have too many needs. It is that you have not yet found someone who sees those needs as just the things that make you special. That you don’t need your needs to be tended by someone else, you just need them to see you with them and love how it looks on you.
10. Tame your impulse to give advice by asking questions to know more.
11. No one knows what they are doing. You just have to keep showing up.
My last sip of seltzer emptied into my mouth, the fizz making sizzles in my ears. I squeezed the can before setting it to the ground. I lifted my legs to my chest, my chin to the sky, and my hands to my elbows. I cocooned myself with my limbs to surrender to the sweet smells of the desert plants, flora, and fresh air. A big, free breath in. A deep breath out. I felt lighter. On to better things!
This surrender meant more to me than just a nightcap. It meant a salute to my newfound peace, a proud moment of sticking behind a decision since so many times I have failed to do so before.
Ultimately, I ungripped from these ingrained expectations of perfection, and came to find that my creativity, voice, determination, and confidence came back with less water. With more space in the desert, I am flourishing, my arms reach high and as wide as I can muster.
All of the things I can touch I have decided I deserve. What the desert offers you take because you never know what might come rolling through, or what might not.
I tell myself that I will no longer let life bulldoze over my dreams.
I will remove obstacles,
I will say no,
I will de-clutter unnecessary news, people, and things in my life that do not serve me,
and I will almost definitely set aside the notion that I have to be everything and anything to everybody.
I am working to set myself up with lower expectations so I can continue to have small wins.
These small wins get my own ass behind me.
And. My big, worldly insight is this:
You can’t expect everyone to get behind you.
You can’t even expect everyone to always have your back.
You might not know what you’re doing.
You might fail.
And..
I have mostly failed. I have let people down. I’ve doubted my ability to do things, to be things. I have destroyed and rebuilt my confidence many times. Shit happens. I keep sharing this. I keep sharing my truest things and feels* because living out loud has brought me to my knees in gratitude more times than it has not.
On feels*: If you’re the type that allows yourself to feel all the feelings even when it is not your burden to bare, it is OK. You’ll have high-high’s and low-low’s, and eventually, you will recognize how beautiful that life is. So, per Keeley Shawart on Instagram, when they tell you you’re too much (or when you think you’re too much), keep. being. WHOLE.
Sometimes, the best thing you can do is push your own butt on the swinging chair that is life and relish in the independence before it's over.
Another tough lesson?
Nothing is permanent. This is hard to get over. Keep swinging past it.
