Each year I give myself a word theme and for me the new year begins in the fall. Last year my theme was sabbatical, with a focus on education, rest and renewal. It was also a year of much writing and publishing and I could feel myself drifting toward the “Rest and Renewal” phase, with "Dreaming" on the horizon.
Last year I was specifically focused. But the year I journeyed with “Year of Change” I didn’t want to establish any goals for myself other than to lean into the moment and be open to what comes.
It’s a good thing I was saddled up and ready to ride because for the past three years major life changes continue to erupt and I can feel the pattern holding strong. Year of Change has become my life theme. But I was no longer in sync with the energy. I’ve been holding back, resisting. Disappointed. Grumpy almost and I’ve got to get back to the garden.
It has occurred to me that in order to lean forward into the changes taking place, first, I need to grieve the loss of my older hopes and dreams. Let go, release them, gently. Then I will be able to hope and dream anew. To begin reaching for things that can come true, bring joy, laughter and peace, while we deal with health challenges, while the political world continues to rumble, while those in charge of decision-making continue to violate my morals, while borderland children are separated from parents, while yet another wild fire threatens our neighborhood, while circumstances are sending me on a detour, instead of the path I wanted to take, while much grace, kindness and beauty also surround me.
Except I’ve forgotten how to dream. And while I’ve been traveling with hope for as long as I can remember, lately I’ve preferred faith. Hope is a verb. Action. I love verbs, but it takes a lot of energy to remain hopeful. If asked to describe myself I would tell you I have rock solid faith, yet I need to restock my supply of faith, because it takes a lot of faith to hope and dream big.
Meanwhile, I’m restoring faith while reading emails from my friend Ali who was born for and was raised on the Kusquqvak in southwest Alaska. A member of the Orutsararmuit Native Council. Rooted, solid in her knowing. Thriving where she stands.
“So excited to put up salmon with four generations of women." Ali writes. "Smoking salmon in the heat means tending early morning (cooler) fires and guarding against peaty blue flies laying eggs on salmon flesh and hoping for a good wind and drinking lots of water. Our kin lost her smokehouse full of salmon to a total loss fire. Sad. And yet people joined together to help her rebuild and start again. Early berries too because of the heat. Lots of changes.”
As winter deepens Ali writes, “I extend my greetings to your family as my daughter joins her husband in butchering the young buck deer who gave himself to her yesterday morning. We are still dealing with the boiler not working. After my son-in-law brought the buck home last evening I set my oven to clean thrice and lit the steam-room twice to keep heat—against chilled inside air and freezing pipes—until the boiler man gets here this morning."
. . .
Sometimes it’s easy to slip into my pain groove, and take inventory of all the ways I hoped my life would be, and isn’t. Ali's words remind me not to wait for anything, to reach now and bloom where I am. And my friend Eyoungsoo said something that has also placed me on a far better road. He said, "Our beliefs make up our reality."
Every day since I've been reshuffling my beliefs and searching for new ways of thinking and being. My new reality is beginning to feel wider than the sky, filled with possibility.
There is much more for me to explore while I journey with Faith, Hope and Dream Big.
