Another Life on Another Shore

Shortly after Brian broke up with me the studio officially went up for sale.  An opportunity I would have unhaltingly and without reservation said, "Yes!" to before April.  As it was something Brian and I often talked about.  Me buying the studio.  Us moving in together.

But it wasn't before April.  It was now (or rather then-two months ago).  And while at first it seemed like a golden opportunity delivered on a golden tray sprinkled with golden dust that I'd be a fool to turn down.  I mean hadn't I always wanted to own my own business?  And doesn't it even have space for a counseling office?  Something about it clammed my lips.  And it wasn't just the change in my relationship status.  There was something deeper that prevented me from emphatically saying, "Yes!"

But I couldn't quite put my finger on it.  Nor could I figure out whether or not the feeling was legitimate or just silly I'm not good enough fear.  So I decided to put off the decision (hence my cryptic post).  To sit with it awhile.  Try on what owning the studio would feel like.  Consult trusted friends, advisors, and mentors.  Run off to study meditation.  Remain open.  Instead of just jumping right in like I've previously done.

Which has been hard.

I like plans and rules and checklists.  I like knowing what's next.  And I thought I did.  Stay here.  Keep doing what I'm doing.  Move in with Brian.  Make it work.

But all that got pulled out from under me and (at times) I felt like I had capsized and was drowning.  Relationship-done. Place where I live and work-done and done.  I no longer had a direction to row.

Then slowly I started to tread water.  Rafts, life preserves, and hands were lent to me.  Prayers, cups of coffee, midnight conversations, and great acts of kindness were shown.  This strengthened me so I was able to grab ahold of the boat.  So I could eventually haul myself back aboard and start paddling.

The only problem is I haven't known where to.  So instead of forward progress I've mostly just aimlessly smacked my oars on the water.

Sure I could buy the studio.  I could be good at it.  I could make it work.  Smack.  Smack. Smack.

But as my beloved teacher said, "It's not about making it work it's about being in the flow."

And I realized today, as I was driving back from a meditation workshop, here is not where I flow.  It's too hard to paddle.  My oars just won't catch.  Sure this place has been good to me (for me) but it's also been a struggle.  Continues to be in some ways and feels like it always will be in others.  And I can't just keep sitting here rowing around in circles.  I gotta get on with things.  Go somewhere.  Find some calmer waters.

So as much as it pains me to admit this (because I know I'm going to be letting a whole host of people down) I'm not landing here.  I'm not buying the studio.  And I'm not staying.

I'm still not exactly sure where I'll drop anchor (Or is it land this plane?  I forget which metaphor I'm using).  Regardless, it's time I put up my sails and look for some wind because I'm tired of beating my knuckles together.  Here is just too hard.  And staying I'm afraid means constantly being knocked out of my boat and having to scramble back in again because there's nothing left for me here.  I've learned what I needed.  There's no where else for me to go here.

I'm so sorry to everyone who wanted me to stay.  Who wanted me to buy the studio and put down roots.  Part of me really wishes I could and I'm so sad I can't.

But it's not what I'm meant to do.

Driggs is not my port of call.  My final destination.

I still have miles to go (and I'm fairly certain they're in the easterly direction).

So much love and thanks to everyone here and there.  To the people who've helped me back in the boat and paddled it when I couldn't.  And mostly to those who really believed in me.  Who thought I could buy, and own, and run, and manage, and teach here.  Your encouragement buoyed me in ways you'll never know.

I'm forever grateful to you all.


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