Changing, shifting and letting go
Updated: Jan 6
Everything is in flux- minute-to-minute, down to the nano-second. What makes us who we think we are is built by all the things we've been taught about ourselves that have resonated with us as having some weight or meaning- whether true or false, good or bad. The creative ways in which humans have come to identify with their lives are both profound and yet fleetingly temporary, in the vast, universal scheme of things.
Now we are embarking on a new year, marked by a calendar created by man, to measure man-made things. Is it really a new year? Plants and trees and animals don't care- they don't mark time this way. They live present, grounded existences that I have come to value deeply.
My timelines are a little different compared to most people, and it has taken me 49 years of living to discover this reality and realize it is one of my most potent attributes.
I live in a body that houses chronic illnesses. Every day I wake up, surprised by this reality. These illnesses insist on acts of daily living that require each day be lived with a present-mind- I will not know how I will feel, nano-second to nano-second, minute-to-minute or day to day. In trade for the pain, sense of loss and ever-present ego driven want for all the wonderful manifestation that other people are able to perceive and achieve, I've honed being able to change, shift and let go.
Rural Wonders began four years ago, as the illnesses in my body had presented new and increasing challenges to daily living. I have Lupus, Fibromyalgia and Vasculitis. These autoimmune diseases are activated by the very things I love doing most- the outdoors, nature, fresh air, sunshine, horses, dog walks. Sun, light exposure and stress can make me ill for weeks and are activators to the disease processes that can cause irreparable harm to my internal organs. For every session of RW programming I would need to economize the energy in my body for days in advance and days afterward. I'd shirk my household duties, family interactions, conversations and errand running. I would suit up in 110 SPF sunscreen, diligently reapplying every two hours, wear heavy canvas coats and SPF hats. The design of long program run times, were perfect for clients deep personal connects with the horses and exactly as potent as I had hoped they'd be, but not perfect for my body. I shifted the length of programs offered, and the frequency - in hopes that this would help by body to continue. This wasn't enough. The year that was 2019 was chock full of health scares, uneducated medicals professionals, fear, loss, grief, new medical providers and treatment plans. I could carry on as I had been, but to the detriment of the most valuable manmade commodities, a functioning body and time. This abundant potent awareness is requiring me to review my already nano-second to nano-second plan of existence. "Time for change," my body screamed, once again. "Okay, okay, stop yelling body - I am listening," I answered.
By necessity, I am always scanning and letting go of what is not working. The first thing I am letting go of in 2020 is short form social media, specifically Facebook. I was a reluctant late adopter to social media, I value my privacy and only opted to join when I started the business. It has served the business well, but for me, perhaps too well. I cannot keep up with the answers to public inquires and am aware that this small place and my minute-to-minute lifestyle, needs a smaller reach, not a larger one. Not a fan of data-mining and characterizations, letting go of Facebook is easy. But, letting go of a version of me that created a business with the idea to bridge bonds between humans, animals and nature is not.
So, I will blog here. On days when I am too sick to be outside for long, it will offer refuge. On days when I am well enough to go outside, it will be a nature diary.
RW will follow my lead and like me will always be shifting, changing and letting go. What will come of me and RW in the next year? I don't know. Maybe I can make a plan and follow it through, maybe I cannot. It's okay, either way.