I'm currently self-absorbed in recovering from a surgery. This has taken all my strength, especially the commitment to rest so I can heal. I'm not a rester by nature, so I've been challenged. Surprisingly, I've been having time to think, to purge old ideas and draw in new ones. I believe I'll heal both physically and spiritually in the long run. The healing process can be fruitful!
In 2014, my mother died at the age of just short of 101. I was 72. I had an experience I constantly refer back to in my private writing as "no veils". For a moment, standing on my back deck in a light that was not July but some other light (like Indian summer), everything fell away and...well, there were no veils; no veils between me and my mother (whom I loved but didn't really grieve, as she had such a good, long life) and no veils between me and...Reality/God/everything/anything. That's all I can say. I don't know if you can make such a thing happen; all you can do is just be ready for it when it comes. Maybe the self-absorption is a herald?
In his memoir "A Severe Mercy," Shelden Vanauken (a contemporary and friend of C S Lewis) writes about his conversion to Christianity. He writes of standing on the edge of a cliff, looking at the chasm below, his intense fear of making a "leap of faith." But then, he looked behind him, and the secure earth of agnosticism was crumbling. He either had to leap to an uncertain future, or be crushed by the past. He leapt. The threshold moment! I have had so many of those. On the night before my first restaurant opened, I hoped the fire department would call and say the whole building had gone up in smoke! Of course, we opened, and the next ten years were the most incredible experience in my life. In fact, I've come to identify those moments when I am terrified of moving forward as a sign that it is exactly the right thing to do. I think all the great choices of my life are preceded by fear ... until I leap. Thanks for your reflection, Brooke, at a time of year when people are afraid to say they're sad or struggling. And for helping us all to cross the threshold with joy and embrace the mystery of the unknown.
Beautiful post. I am too finding myself discouraged, sad, anxious, self-centered. I blame the election and now the fear of the next 4 years, feeling like an outcast in my own country. But it’s also the darkness and rain of Seattle that lasts 6 months.
It always helps me to spend time with friends and express radical gratitude, the ultimate mood-booster. I think I need to adopt a dog, make it about them. Become a dog-mom again.
Hope the clouds lift for you, and you have a wonderful holiday season. ❤️
I could have written every word of this comment Katie. Yes to blaming the election and the PNW weather! Also, I miss my dog so much, a year after losing her, but so much travel coming up, it isn't responsible to do the dog-mom thing right now. I want you to keep us posted on the dog search!
You describe the liminal state perfectly, as it can feel like a whirl. And when we lose sight of our true spirit, it certainly is that awful self-centeredness which (in itself) is depressing. I use grounding to pass through the transition. This can be a meditative walk where I am actively aware of my footsteps, or yoga where I keep reminding myself to "be here now." Or, yes it works, prayer.
Maggie, yes. I love your use of the word liminal here. Not quite a dream, but neither is it true life. I didn’t park here, my motor’s running, and my wheels are mired in a rut. I’ve not so much lost sight of my true spirit, as I can’t get back to her. The threshold invites, but there’s a membrane over the doorway, a trampoline that seems to throw me back after each attempt to cross. I’ll try your grounding exercises. 🙏🏼
With my own chaos, I almost didn't take time to read this post. What a mistake that would have been. This is my favorite thing you've written on Substack, Brooke. I so appreciate your insights. If you decide you've had it with book publishing and writing, I think you'd make a great therapist!
My first pregnancy was an ectopic one and ended with the surgical removal of a Fallopian tube. For the next year, I thrashed and took one step forward and one step back. I wanted a child more than anything, but was paralyzed by the fear of another ectopic pregnancy and the removal of the other tube. Finally, I decided to let nature take its course. Nine months later, I had a healthy baby boy. (I am so thankful I stepped over that threshold into the waiting arms of motherhood!)
I loved this post. Several years ago, I received a radiology lab report. The only two words that jumped out at me in the jumble of medical jargon were tumor and pancreas. Instead of undergoing invasive surgery, I decided to take the "wait and watch" approach.
Every year, I stand at the door of my annual CT scan, wondering if this is the day cancer might declare itself. And every year, I celebrate!
Someone recently pointed out that butterflies rest when it rains because it damages their wings. Brooke, you have a gift, and I have no doubt that after you rest, you will fly.
The following piece describes endings and transitions. I find this helpful when I am coming to the end of something, either work-related or a relationship.
Beyond Endings, by John O'Donohue
Endings seem to lie in wait. Absorbed in our experience we forget that an ending might be approaching. Consequently, when the ending signals its arrival, we can feel ambushed. Perhaps there is an instinctive survival mechanism in us that distracts us from the inevitability of ending, thus enabling us to live in the present with innocence and whole-heartedness.
Experience has its own secret structuring. Endings are natural. Often what alarms us as an ending can in fact be the opening of a new journey a new beginning that we could never have anticipated; one that engages forgotten parts of the heart. Due to the current overlay of therapy terminology in our language, everyone now seems to wish for closure. This word is unfortunate: it is not faithful to the open-ended rhythm of experience. Creatures made of clay with porous skins and porous minds are quite incapable of the hermetic sealing that the strategy of closure seems to imply. The word completion is a truer word. Each experience has within it a dynamic of unfolding and a narrative of emergence. Oscar Wilde once said, "The supreme vice is shallowness." Whatever is realized is right. When a person manages to trust experience and be open to it, the experience finds its own way to realization. Though such an ending may be awkward and painful, there is a sense of wholesomeness and authenticity about it. Then the heart will gradually find that this stage has run its course and the ending is substantial and true. Eventually the person emerges with a deeper sense of freedom, certainty, and integration.
The nature of calendar time is linear; it is made up of durations that begin and end. The Celtic imagination always sensed that beneath time there was eternal depth. This offers us a completely different way of relating to time. It relieves time of the finality of ending. While something may come to an ending on the surface of time, its presence, meaning, and effect continue to be held into the eternal. This is how spirit unfolds and deepens. In this sense, eternal time is intimate; it is where the unfolding narrative of individual life is gathered and woven.
--John O'Donohue, from "To Bless the Space Between Us"
My humble suggestion? Surrender. And then, when you think you’ve surrendered, surrender more.
For myself, this is how I now navigate every transition, every experience, because when we accept and surrender to what is, we take back our power. The alternative? Fighting against what is-and in my experience, that never ends well.
I am absorbed in my husband's path to healing and sorting out his business so we can retire. After his surgery in January, I will be his primary helper and will take care of the aspects of living that he usually does. During the 35 years we have been together, we have created an interdependent web that supports us, our family, and all we care about. The unexpected aspect of this threshold experience, this illness as teacher moment, is that we are enjoying our lives fully, not missing opportunities to take what life offers and to appreciate each other. We have created a wonderful life together, have met many challenges. and will meet this one as well with love, respect, and faith. Now instead of leaning on my husband, I am leaning on my inner strength.
This is beautiful, Judith. Thanks for sharing this because it's giving voice to what I was trying to articulate in this post—the ways that absorption is necessary and provides growth opportunities. Sending you both much love and strength during this threshold moment.
Love this insightful post. I wish I had words of wisdom for you, but I don't. Transitions are hard. I was far more devastated than I ever expected when my kids left the nest. It didn't help that my mother was dying and I was in a menopausal nightmare. The only constant is change. Ten years on, I have never been happier. Cherish each day. ❤️
Brooke, I recently posted a 4-minute audio of a lesson about endings and beginnings that I learned in a rainforest in Ecuador. It’s about entering dark spaces (endings) and moving toward light (beginnings). The election sparked this memory. Here it is if you have a few minutes.
Your message came at just the right time for me, as a reminder that I need to move forward creatively and hopefully. The November election results put me in a deep hole emotionally. I'm sure others share that feeling. Your message about stepping through the open door before each of us encouraged me to climb out of that hole. Thank you.
When we are in the middle of a segue from one condition/situation and another and are aware of it, we can feel unbalanced and yet expansive. Our familiar definitions drop away, and we are hovering within ourselves as we shed our skin and our consciousness shifts and blends. It is profound, complex, and simple all at once. The narrator/watcher within us is tracking all this while living it, deepening it. An interesting state of mind, special. A harbinger of an expanse to come.
I'm currently self-absorbed in recovering from a surgery. This has taken all my strength, especially the commitment to rest so I can heal. I'm not a rester by nature, so I've been challenged. Surprisingly, I've been having time to think, to purge old ideas and draw in new ones. I believe I'll heal both physically and spiritually in the long run. The healing process can be fruitful!
I'm sure it will be, Tess. Sending you strength for this part of the journey!
I appreciate all your posts, and I cherish the ones that you share your vulnerability.
Thank you, it feels less alone to know regardless of our age, we are in this period of transitions and crossing over.
Interestingly, on Tuesday, I declared myself as an average older woman. My trauma and survival are no longer my curse or superpower, it just was.
This leaves an absence, opening or a space in between. The space to cross to something new.
I hope to fill that space with beauty, joy and magic to approach the uncertainty of the days ahead.
In the world writ large, it feels as if we all are crossing a threshold, it feels uncertain, frightening, hopeful and possibly beautiful.
Let's be average older women together, my friend! We are indeed crossing over—into beautiful things in our futures. I feel it. And I believe it.
I want to join the club. Average older creative women! Or maybe you left off creative because that is part of being average for women? Could be.
You are definitely in the club, Jennifer! :)
Gracias, amiga!
Welcome to the Club! Average Older Woman (AOW)! We'll have to discuss if our creativity is part of being average or a byproduct or both.
In 2014, my mother died at the age of just short of 101. I was 72. I had an experience I constantly refer back to in my private writing as "no veils". For a moment, standing on my back deck in a light that was not July but some other light (like Indian summer), everything fell away and...well, there were no veils; no veils between me and my mother (whom I loved but didn't really grieve, as she had such a good, long life) and no veils between me and...Reality/God/everything/anything. That's all I can say. I don't know if you can make such a thing happen; all you can do is just be ready for it when it comes. Maybe the self-absorption is a herald?
Indeed! Thank you, Betsy. This is a lovely image to sit with.
She supports me through the thrashing, good woman that she is. ❤️ Happy Holidays, Bob. Sending you love.
In his memoir "A Severe Mercy," Shelden Vanauken (a contemporary and friend of C S Lewis) writes about his conversion to Christianity. He writes of standing on the edge of a cliff, looking at the chasm below, his intense fear of making a "leap of faith." But then, he looked behind him, and the secure earth of agnosticism was crumbling. He either had to leap to an uncertain future, or be crushed by the past. He leapt. The threshold moment! I have had so many of those. On the night before my first restaurant opened, I hoped the fire department would call and say the whole building had gone up in smoke! Of course, we opened, and the next ten years were the most incredible experience in my life. In fact, I've come to identify those moments when I am terrified of moving forward as a sign that it is exactly the right thing to do. I think all the great choices of my life are preceded by fear ... until I leap. Thanks for your reflection, Brooke, at a time of year when people are afraid to say they're sad or struggling. And for helping us all to cross the threshold with joy and embrace the mystery of the unknown.
Beautiful post. I am too finding myself discouraged, sad, anxious, self-centered. I blame the election and now the fear of the next 4 years, feeling like an outcast in my own country. But it’s also the darkness and rain of Seattle that lasts 6 months.
It always helps me to spend time with friends and express radical gratitude, the ultimate mood-booster. I think I need to adopt a dog, make it about them. Become a dog-mom again.
Hope the clouds lift for you, and you have a wonderful holiday season. ❤️
I could have written every word of this comment Katie. Yes to blaming the election and the PNW weather! Also, I miss my dog so much, a year after losing her, but so much travel coming up, it isn't responsible to do the dog-mom thing right now. I want you to keep us posted on the dog search!
Yes, become a dog mom again! And I think it's okay to blame the election.
You describe the liminal state perfectly, as it can feel like a whirl. And when we lose sight of our true spirit, it certainly is that awful self-centeredness which (in itself) is depressing. I use grounding to pass through the transition. This can be a meditative walk where I am actively aware of my footsteps, or yoga where I keep reminding myself to "be here now." Or, yes it works, prayer.
Thank you, Maggie. Losing sight of true spirit, then working to get aligned again. This.
Maggie, yes. I love your use of the word liminal here. Not quite a dream, but neither is it true life. I didn’t park here, my motor’s running, and my wheels are mired in a rut. I’ve not so much lost sight of my true spirit, as I can’t get back to her. The threshold invites, but there’s a membrane over the doorway, a trampoline that seems to throw me back after each attempt to cross. I’ll try your grounding exercises. 🙏🏼
With my own chaos, I almost didn't take time to read this post. What a mistake that would have been. This is my favorite thing you've written on Substack, Brooke. I so appreciate your insights. If you decide you've had it with book publishing and writing, I think you'd make a great therapist!
Thank you, Kate. I am the product of two therapists so I come by it honestly. :)
This.
My first pregnancy was an ectopic one and ended with the surgical removal of a Fallopian tube. For the next year, I thrashed and took one step forward and one step back. I wanted a child more than anything, but was paralyzed by the fear of another ectopic pregnancy and the removal of the other tube. Finally, I decided to let nature take its course. Nine months later, I had a healthy baby boy. (I am so thankful I stepped over that threshold into the waiting arms of motherhood!)
I loved this post. Several years ago, I received a radiology lab report. The only two words that jumped out at me in the jumble of medical jargon were tumor and pancreas. Instead of undergoing invasive surgery, I decided to take the "wait and watch" approach.
Every year, I stand at the door of my annual CT scan, wondering if this is the day cancer might declare itself. And every year, I celebrate!
Someone recently pointed out that butterflies rest when it rains because it damages their wings. Brooke, you have a gift, and I have no doubt that after you rest, you will fly.
The following piece describes endings and transitions. I find this helpful when I am coming to the end of something, either work-related or a relationship.
Beyond Endings, by John O'Donohue
Endings seem to lie in wait. Absorbed in our experience we forget that an ending might be approaching. Consequently, when the ending signals its arrival, we can feel ambushed. Perhaps there is an instinctive survival mechanism in us that distracts us from the inevitability of ending, thus enabling us to live in the present with innocence and whole-heartedness.
Experience has its own secret structuring. Endings are natural. Often what alarms us as an ending can in fact be the opening of a new journey a new beginning that we could never have anticipated; one that engages forgotten parts of the heart. Due to the current overlay of therapy terminology in our language, everyone now seems to wish for closure. This word is unfortunate: it is not faithful to the open-ended rhythm of experience. Creatures made of clay with porous skins and porous minds are quite incapable of the hermetic sealing that the strategy of closure seems to imply. The word completion is a truer word. Each experience has within it a dynamic of unfolding and a narrative of emergence. Oscar Wilde once said, "The supreme vice is shallowness." Whatever is realized is right. When a person manages to trust experience and be open to it, the experience finds its own way to realization. Though such an ending may be awkward and painful, there is a sense of wholesomeness and authenticity about it. Then the heart will gradually find that this stage has run its course and the ending is substantial and true. Eventually the person emerges with a deeper sense of freedom, certainty, and integration.
The nature of calendar time is linear; it is made up of durations that begin and end. The Celtic imagination always sensed that beneath time there was eternal depth. This offers us a completely different way of relating to time. It relieves time of the finality of ending. While something may come to an ending on the surface of time, its presence, meaning, and effect continue to be held into the eternal. This is how spirit unfolds and deepens. In this sense, eternal time is intimate; it is where the unfolding narrative of individual life is gathered and woven.
--John O'Donohue, from "To Bless the Space Between Us"
Love me some John O'Donohue. Thanks for sharing this here, Mary Anne. He's got wisdom for all the parts of the journey—of writing and in life.
My humble suggestion? Surrender. And then, when you think you’ve surrendered, surrender more.
For myself, this is how I now navigate every transition, every experience, because when we accept and surrender to what is, we take back our power. The alternative? Fighting against what is-and in my experience, that never ends well.
And I loved your post, thank you ❤️
YES, Sister! ❤️
I am absorbed in my husband's path to healing and sorting out his business so we can retire. After his surgery in January, I will be his primary helper and will take care of the aspects of living that he usually does. During the 35 years we have been together, we have created an interdependent web that supports us, our family, and all we care about. The unexpected aspect of this threshold experience, this illness as teacher moment, is that we are enjoying our lives fully, not missing opportunities to take what life offers and to appreciate each other. We have created a wonderful life together, have met many challenges. and will meet this one as well with love, respect, and faith. Now instead of leaning on my husband, I am leaning on my inner strength.
This is beautiful, Judith. Thanks for sharing this because it's giving voice to what I was trying to articulate in this post—the ways that absorption is necessary and provides growth opportunities. Sending you both much love and strength during this threshold moment.
Love this insightful post. I wish I had words of wisdom for you, but I don't. Transitions are hard. I was far more devastated than I ever expected when my kids left the nest. It didn't help that my mother was dying and I was in a menopausal nightmare. The only constant is change. Ten years on, I have never been happier. Cherish each day. ❤️
The other side is out there waiting! :)
Brooke, I recently posted a 4-minute audio of a lesson about endings and beginnings that I learned in a rainforest in Ecuador. It’s about entering dark spaces (endings) and moving toward light (beginnings). The election sparked this memory. Here it is if you have a few minutes.
https://aliciamrodriguez.substack.com/p/a-lesson-from-the-rainforest
Your message came at just the right time for me, as a reminder that I need to move forward creatively and hopefully. The November election results put me in a deep hole emotionally. I'm sure others share that feeling. Your message about stepping through the open door before each of us encouraged me to climb out of that hole. Thank you.
When we are in the middle of a segue from one condition/situation and another and are aware of it, we can feel unbalanced and yet expansive. Our familiar definitions drop away, and we are hovering within ourselves as we shed our skin and our consciousness shifts and blends. It is profound, complex, and simple all at once. The narrator/watcher within us is tracking all this while living it, deepening it. An interesting state of mind, special. A harbinger of an expanse to come.
Agreed, Linda Joy. I think these are the moments that sit with us and that beg to come out later in story. I'm paying attention. ❤️