The Bearable Lightness of Freeing

Day one.

It’s done. My house sale closed yesterday. I’m celebrating in Port Townsend with chai, a water view, and writing time at Better Living Through Coffee, my other favorite café. For the first time in 17 years, none of me at any level is preoccupied with owning property. I’ve given up one American Dream without jumping into another; I’m not thinking of buying another place or moving into a rental now and don’t know where my next home will be. Not even in which country. Nor am I buying a camper van to tortoise-and-hare my way across the continent. Not as far as I know, anyway. I’m untethered. I’ve done an arguably un-sensible thing in pursuit of an unknown. And now that it’s final, the anxiety ball is gone from my belly for the first time in months. At least for now. I feel lighter. I feel something quietly expanding.

The English language has a knack for characterizing the state and shape of our energy field even if we don’t consciously perceive or believe our energy field exists. There’s instructive wisdom in the language itself.  Remarks such as I’m beside myself, I’m getting ahead of myself, I’m all over the place, I’m off balance, I felt that bounce right off me, I’m pulled in too many directions, I’ve got my defenses up, I feel expansive, and I need to catch up with myself may all seem metaphorical, but to practitioners who perceive our bioenergetic fields, such expressions show how well we know what’s up with ourselves even when we don’t know that we know. If we actually listen to our off-hand remarks, our minds can catch up with what our bodies already know—how we’re operating, and what to do to come back to balance. The “accidental” precision in our language gives us clues. So, when I say I feel “lighter” today, the word summons my attention.

I wondered what today would be like. Months of tripping every possible insecurity over Maslow’s hierarchy had me expecting anything from mild doubts to a serious case of “Oops, I’ve really gone and done it now.” A panicky impulse to find my next rooting place ASAP wouldn’t have surprised me. But none of that happened. Instead, it’s as if I kicked off a blanket that was just a little too warm or opened a window in a room that was just a little too stale.

My house was no prison and I’m no escapee. I’m not blind to how fortunate I am to have displaced myself by choice rather than having war, natural disaster, illness, or other misfortune force my hand. Plus, one day of lightness doesn’t guarantee that I won’t backtrack into second-guesses tomorrow. But for today, the invitation to focus on what’s next and let what’s done be done feels—undramatically—right.

(Written Aug 2 in Washington, published Aug 7 in Jalisco, Mexico.)