Spring in July

Wow! I'm so off center these last couple of weeks. Getting used to a new job has pulled me away from the strong sense of self I had before I started. My husband reminded me that this is probably natural, but the strength I had been feeling is so precious and young I am anxious about losing it. I suspect it will return. I also suspect that perimenopausal issues continue to affect my energy levels and moods. Though they (the moods) are more stable than ever, they still surprise me sometimes, and instead of dissecting or resisting it I'm learning that I have to let go even more than I already have. It doesn't matter, for instance, if I've had one nap that day – if I need to lie down again, so be it. Nor does it have to mean anything in particular that getting a load of laundry done, taking a walk and reading are all I can manage sometimes.

I've never written about my letting go process, at least not in depth. On top of the difficulty of finding the right words for it, I know that it's not over yet. My sense is that I'm just coming out of the forest. It's a progression that for many can take years, and is often nudged into gear by a wake-up call. There are all kinds of these nudges: death, illness, trauma, and midlife are a few perspective-changers that come to mind.

My nudge came on September 11, 2001. As for many people, it stripped from me feelings of safety and security, even from 3000 miles away, that were taken for granted. It led me to the "final answer" of questioning my own status quo, led me to transform dynamics I'd been struggling with for years. (I was 42 years old, which, if you are into astrology or numerology, is a multiple of vital number seven.) It led me to try antidepressants, which I'd resisted for years on the poor-in-hindsight advice of a former therapist (but were, paradoxically, later encouraged by my naturopath). Celexa was a lifesaver, and helped usher me into a phase of great personal change and growth. I got fired for the first time ever in my Supergirl life, more due to lackluster performance from a poor job fit than any conscious sabotage.

In the summer of 2003, I drifted into states of mystical bliss, in lust and love with everyone and everything. A raw energy took me over that seemed to come from somewhere else, from behind some partition in my psyche. Voices that were not my own spoke to me, comforted me, guided me. An intense sexual energy I'd never felt kept my 2nd and 3rd chakras warm and buzzing for months, and anything remotely or directly sexual (sounds, drawings, talk) made me nearly swoon. ( I remember being in the erotic section of a bookstore and having to hold onto the bookcase while perusing an illustrated how-to manual.) At work I was followed into stairwells, bathroom stalls and elevators by this energy, which pounced on me day and night almost against my will. At the time I likened this amazing sensation to the difference between taste and smell: the tangible aspects of this presence, this ardent spirit, were not visible, but the effect and scent were the same. Needless to say, my ideas about life and psyche and spirit were profoundly altered.

The above-mentioned episode, which has been considerably condensed and simplified, led to The Great Shedding: of our high-maintenance old house, of ideas about work and myself, of friends, location, income - of outmoded ways period. Enter the liminal phase: of travel, visionary dreams, breathwork sessions, a new respect for astrology, financial insecurity, trying new and part time jobs and housing arrangements, and taking two hour naps every day for two years. Of losing two beloved, aged cats who saw us through 17 years of our journey. Of walking endlessly and observing everything, being with the pain and grief of "not knowing" and losing my grip on life as I had known it. Thank goodness my husband was on board with all of this; indeed, he was the beneficiary of my inflamed sexual energy! But had he known about the turmoil we would be heading into, I doubt he would have come along so easily.

Financing The Great Shedding and the liminal phase were the proceeds from selling our old house. A $160,000 profit paid off all debts and loans, and enabled hubby and me to go to Europe twice and me to Mexico several times - the latter reinvigorating my love of photography and of exploring new cultures. The house money enabled me to work part time while in the Shadowlands, and encouraged my husband to leave his stifling 20 year civil service job and undrtake his own midlife crisis. (One that he only came out of a few months ago.) Ai carumba, two of us in turmoil at once! Good thing we have no kids.

The last of our house profits were spent last summer, when a month-long foray to California to explore living and work options turned up no easy answers. So here we are back in Seattle – broke, accepting monthly assistance from my parents, but actually happier and more solid than ever, and optimistic about the future. There are practical things to consider: neither of us now makes enough money to keep on top of our bills. We are considering moving out to the suburbs to save on rent. But after so much change and four moves in five years, we are tired. We want to rest a bit, settle into a new phase now that it feels like the Shadowlands are behind us. In the cycle of personal seasons, we are in Spring. I want to strengthen the root system of our budding selves. We will fertilize, water and care for our tender green shoots as best we can. As for the rest - well, like any newly planted garden, we get to watch and wait.