If there's one thing I've learned about myself, I'm at my best when I remember to surrender. When I yield to something larger than me, be it the universe, God, or Mary- magical things occur. If relinquishing control works like a charm every time, you'd think I would always just do it, right? You'd be surprised. This Zen Broad in training certainly has her stumble and fall moments, and had herself a real doosie a week ago, in fact.
Back to the art of the surrender. Eight years ago, Hubby (before his career in Hubby-ism) and I came to New York. We were twenty-one and had no jobs, no money and no place to live. I came cradling the dream that had sustained me since my eleventh year: to be a working actor in New York. Hubby came from California bringing his own decade-long dreams of playing his tenor saxophone. We were young, perpetually broke, and crazily in love. (Emphasis on the crazy on my part. I was a bit of a wack-job in my earliest twenties.) Realtors were reluctant to rent to us, but in the end we scored an apartment on the very same street that had caused me to exclaim, "Oh, I wish we could live here!"
I passed the years waiting tables, auditioning, and working serial temp jobs. Those were lean but happy, unprecedented days, as our hopeful outlook hadn't yet peered past the world of top ramen and hot dogs. And then one day I sort of fell into a job with an investment banking company. On second thought, I won't say I "fell" into it, since one morning I very deliberately decided to ask for a job, any job, that would allow me to support myself comfortably and without worry. I asked the universe for health care, in a sense, and surrendered the outcome, whatever it may be. And I only had to ask once. A few interviews later, I accepted my miracle job and never really looked back. After that, things just seemed to fall into alignment. I loved my newfound financial security. The sudden absence of struggle lifted a heavy burden from my shoulders, allowing for new, exciting things to enter into my life, and the wonders just kept rolling in.
Fast forward to the present- namely, our decision to leave New York and move to Boston. Once again, we have no jobs there as of yet and no place to live, but that can easily be dealt with, right? Last week we headed up to Boston to begin our preliminary search, to erect the beautiful, pristine skeleton of our "new life." I had a hunch, of course, that nothing final would come of this trip and tried to think of it only as a starting point. I was feeling centered and zen-like: I'd meditated and had been religiously practicing my Qi Gong exercises. I was a pebble in the pond, as the Qi Gong master in the video suggested. If I do say so myself, I was in a really healthy place for a change!! (Dear Reader, can you smell a meltdown approaching in three, two, one...?)
Five interviews and several apartment hunts later, there I was, still trekking along, when something dawned on me, right there in the middle of Westland Avenue. At first it creeped in quietly, a mere whisper, and then grew in force until it was ricocheting deafeningly between my throbbing eardrums: I was absolutely TERRIFIED!! What in the hell were we doing? We were making a HUGE mistake!! Why would we give up our spacious, two bedroom apartment to live in a tiny studio that would cost outrageously more? Why would we relinquish up our sunny, eat-in kitchen for a place with zero counter space and half an oven? Why would I leave a well paying job to take one that would certainly demote me in both rank and pay? We were willingly unestablishing ourselves, and the future looked penniless and bleak. Imaginary rain clouds closed in and I had a nagging desire to shove that pebble in the pond directly up the nearest realtor's ass. (Drama anyone?)
So the Odd Broad had herself a meltdown moment. And it wasn't because of the humidity, but thank you for asking. Did it help that I was meeting with headhunters while I had my period and a sickening migraine headache that had been there for three days? Did it help that three of them told me I'd never make a salary in Boston comparable to the one I make in New York? Did it help that the realtor kept showing us nightmarishly overpriced apartments, the last of which had bongs and pipes on display with a sign that said: "admire, but please don't touch"?
My desire to cram in way too much activity in far too brief a time frame had turned out to be a recipe for disaster. My zen beliefs had been completely tossed out the window. Centered shmentered.
I realized, perhaps for the first time, that I had unwittingly allowed myself to be defined by my current external situation: my job, to be exact, and this had come back to bite me in the ass big time. I wanted to move home, but was resisting giving up the security of the person I'd become in New York. I stood there in disbelief, shaking my aching head. Had this really happened to me? Me, who prides herself on not following a cookie cutter version of how life is supposed to be, who worked temp jobs for five years, who chafes at conformity and commitment, who goes with the flow, who doesn't make plans, who thinks of herself as a seeker, a free spirit?
Delusion: it's what's for dinner.
As painful as this was to admit, a part of me was desperately grasping on to the status quo, convinced that the future could never be as safe and cushy as the present moment. (Drama...and jazz hands!)
I needed a time out. I reminded myself that our circumstances had grown far too predictable and comfy, all the reason to start something new, to begin fresh. I would finally be around my family again and Hubby would be able to go back to school and finish his degree. We'd be fine. We'd grow. So maybe there would be some growing pains, but was that really such a big deal? Hadn't we already done this before and come out smiling? I hadn't realized I'd become so attached to the life we'd made here. I certainly wasn't aware I'd been defining myself by it!
I had stumbled. Eventually I decided to be gentle with myself and just get over it. It helps that I no longer have my period or the throbbing migraine I was sporting last week in beantown. So Hubby and I are initiating a bit of a do over on life, isn't that still just a little bit exciting? It totally is. And so I changed my story faster than Sissy turned TMZ when they were about to show the clip of Minnie Me's sex tape. (Some things cannot be unseen, they'd warned, and she heeded their advice).
Everyone is entitled to a meltdown now and then. The point is to learn from it and try again. Now isn't the time for me to cling on to the status quo simply because it's the easier option, now is the time to fall, gently, completely, into that terrifying, indefinite, potentially penniless abyss; into the unknown that will only turn knowable when I come across it...
Now is not the time to be wimpy. Now is the time for surrender.
Try not to get that Cheap Trick song stuck in your head. xoxo
Comments