“You can eat squirrels…right Mama?”

I recently celebrated my 42nd Birthday.  I celebrated it at home with my little family, doing things a wee boy would enjoy. 

It was nice.  But that night, I found myself feeling sad.

See, I had planned an exciting birthday weekend getaway to learn how to make wool felt hats, stay with dear friends and have an adventure.  On my own!  I was so excited.  I asked for this as my birthday gift months ago.  And, asking for a solo adventure was a thing all on its own.

Of course, it was canceled. 

And while this is so insignificant in the grand scheme of things and life, health and financial security or so far above this on the scale of loss, I can’t help but feel a bit sad about canceling these plans…like so many of you have had to do. 

I then feel guilty for giving my small, tiny really, loss any energy in the face of such magnitude.  Like worrying about being splashed by a careless foot in a puddle when a tsunami is approaching. 

So, I’ve been admonishing myself for feeling blue. 

But the truth is, if I don’t allow myself to simply feel blue about this, it will take up residence in me.  And I know that, but it sometimes takes a while to remember and to give ourselves grace.   And to remember that loss or mourning isn’t a competition where only the most worthy, big and tragic emotions, deserve to be felt.

I can have perspective on it AND I can allow it to be seen.

Allowing it, in order to release it.  And while, it’s about this lost trip, it’s also (maybe mostly) about the uncertainty of the future. 

Health aside (because honestly, I’m doing what I can in that department, and the rest is somewhat out of my hands) the planner and dreamer and schemer in me is struggling with the unknown of what life may look like in a month, 6 months, a year.   I’m guessing you are too.

Sometimes, when I’ve given myself the space to allow what is in me to express itself…sometimes, I feel a glimmer of excitement at what may be to come.  At the shedding away of what is not important and the tempering of what is important.   There’s a hopefulness and a clarity in that.

But what will it look like, I say to myself? 

And what I really mean is, will it be okay?  Will we be joyful and safe?  Will we be able to pursue our passions and shine our lights in the world?  Will we (collectively) have enough?  Will we be able to make the changes that we need to make in life?  Will we feel stuck, trapped in the idea of security?  And then the more immediate questions of, when will I see my mama or my dad or my brother or….? 

I’m sure you can relate.

And then, because I’ve allowed myself to feel the loss, I’m already brighter and joy is already bubbling up.

There is so much power in allowing our selves to feel what we feel.  Simply.  Without denial or drama.  It’s there anyway, might as well give it some light and maybe a little hug.

And then, as I finished writing this, my 4-year-old bolted down the stairs to unlock the door, rush outside and chase these elusive turkeys he’s been trying to catch for 4 days. 

With an unerring devotion.  I’m sure the turkeys must wonder at the small lunatic who, at all hours, rushes at them from the house or who is hiding beside the wheelbarrow, bungee cord in hand, ready to catch one with the hook on the end of the bungee and bring it in for the pantry. 

Not the little one, the big one.  It would seem we all, even the smallest of us, want to contribute to feeling safe and secure. 

What are you holding onto dear one?

In Deep Kinship,