One small step

This is my favourite time of day. The sun is setting and the birds are getting the last word. Whatever else I do, I know I want to be able to sit outside and watch the sun set with a cup of tea at least one or two days a week. It helps me feel combobulated.

I was explaining to a friend the other day how I wasn't sure whether I wanted an urban working life in the city or a quiet life in a caravan in the country. I said that I had tried to 'zoom out' and see what those ideas had in common, to find out what it was in both that appealed since on the surface they seemed quite different. The zooming revealed several things: that I want to be more financially independent either by living more cheaply or by earning more, that I want to live and work in an environment where I am appreciated and useful, and in a situation where I am learning and that offers me variety. That's the big picture, or at least some of it, and the details of how these things are met are less important.

These things are true, but today in a fit of greed I realized too that I in fact don't want to have to choose - I want it all, thanks. I want to live in, or at least own, a tiny home AND I want to work more and earn more money in a fulfilling job. AND, what's more I want to get married and have at least one child. AND I want the two hundred and fifty dollar boots on Etsy. There. Sometimes it's hard - very hard, actually - for me to state my wishes out loud because it feels like focusing on what I don't have, because my spiritual tradition frowns on seeking material things, or anything for yourself really, and also because if I don't get my wish, then I don't know how that would be. But not saying the wish out loud doesn't make it less true. It just makes it less shared. I've been inspired by reading The Wishing Year to think about my wishes, and to realize I don't have to justify them to any other person.

I've also been inspired to openness in declaring my wishes by my sister-in-law Rachel who was diagnosed about a week ago with stage 4 Hodgkins lymphoma and has begun chemotherapy this week. She's in her early 30's with a husband and almost-two year old. And she's both impressively fierce and intimidatingly open about it, not least on her newly begun blog. She's calling in support from her many friends (and God) and facing it head on with them, pushing back with impressive force at the shit that is cancer. She doesn't seem to have as much of a gap between her real self and the self she portrays to the world, as far as I can tell, which is healthy and very very much a learned skill for me. So, spurred on by her bravery, this is another small step along that road for me.

When I sit in the sunset, I like to sit just inside my front doorway, with my feet perched out on the little balcony. I'm peeking out at the world, watching what's going on, but I'm also within the walls of my home, ready to retreat if need be. Yesterday as I sat alone, snug in the doorway clutching my tea this metaphor for my life suddenly snapped into sharp focus.
And it was noted.