Belonging
Seeing trees, bushes or plants growing from seemingly impossible places, such as from a small crack in a boulder, has always held a fascination for me. Nearly every time I see it I stop and look. I may take a picture if a camera is handy.
I always think: How?
How did this tree come to grow from a seemingly inhospitable and impossible place? How did the seed come to be there, to germinate there? How does it get enough nutrients and sustenance to grow, to live?
How does it live in a place where it would seem it doesn’t belong? How does it accept that it’s circumstance are different and continue to grow as it is, where it is?
Belonging has been on mind a lot these days as I have begun to navigate some deeper changes in my life. From visiting with friends in my hometown of Flagstaff and friends and family in Phoenix, to returning to Oregon and starting a cleanse and a break from alcohol, I have felt unmoored, and unsure of where, or if, I belong anywhere. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling as I’ve spent much time in my life trying to sort out where and how I belonged, but this time felt like more of a conscious choice and one that has led to some intense internal pushback.
For the tree that grows out of the crack in the boulder, there had to be a circumstance that led to that crack’s existence; that led to the possibility of creating a home for the tree before the tree could grow there; before it could find its place in the world.
As with the tree and the boulder, there have been circumstances and reasons that led to me making these choices and to untethering myself from a way of life that I have known for a long time, and, as that crack has widened enough to create a place for life to grow from I have been trying to germinate the seeds that will continue to grow my desire to at least try to live life more authentically, to try to live life as me, to try to live life in a way that speaks to the knowing that I belong.
The circumstances and moments in my life that led to this crack forming and widening are many and varied just as they would be for any given life but as I have reflected back on my life there are moments that speak to this sense of not belonging, of not understanding where I fit in or why I couldn’t do certain things. From a recent trip to Arizona to a much, much younger version of myself I see a thread that has tied us together that has linked us in this sense of not belonging. I see another thread as well – the thread that has tied us together in our desire to belong. A want to belong but not knowing how or where to achieve that. A third thread has also shown up and this one is the thread of self that has sought to protect me from hurt, from the pain that may have occurred by being ourselves, from the rejection that may have occurred if we reveled ourselves more authentically to another, to the world. It’s a powerful thread, one that has knotted up the others in various places and prevented them from finishing the pattern they were meant to create in this life.
Healing doesn’t always just occur in the present. As I follow these threads and attempt to unknot them the best I can, as I heal myself now, as I learn to find my belonging in the world, with others and within myself I’m also inviting my younger iterations along, to find their belonging, to find it together. The healing is also an offering to my future self so that it may know belonging more often and bring this iteration of myself, and all the others along with it as well.
The crack that formed in the boulder could have begun with any number of circumstances. The boulder itself may have been born from a crack in the rock face of the mountain. Maybe a seismic event cleaved the boulder from the rock face after water and erosion set the stage for the separation. The crack where the tree now grows, where the tree has found life, was perhaps started at that moment of separation from its home. As it fell, perhaps the jolt of landing in a new place, a place where it didn’t belong just moments before, caused an internal seismic event that created just enough space for a droplet of water at a time to penetrate, and, when conditions were right, to freeze and widen the crack with each period of freeze and thaw. The boulder, preoccupied with finding itself in a new place may not have even noticed this process happening, it was minute and felt over a long period of time so as to just be assumed that this was how life felt in this new place.
For me the crack within widened enough, became spacious enough to try a new way of life, during this past June and a trip to Arizona that the kids and I took. While the kids stayed with their grandparents, I spent the trip visiting my hometown and exploring the offerings that were held in the beautiful town of Sedona. The time I spent in Flagstaff was, in many ways, a return to home and a return to being with people that I felt, that I feel, belonging with. It was a two-day period that allowed me to visit new friends and revisit friends that I had not seen in a decade or two. The camaraderie and friendship were much needed and felt so deeply, it was as if time had not passed between our 40-something selves and those in our late teen and early twenties. There was a part of me that desired returning to Flagstaff and living there again. There was a part that was sad to see the town, the mountains fade into the distance in my rear-view mirror and seeing those times with friends coming to an end as I drove to Sedona and a period of time being by myself.
It was my first night in Sedona where the crack widened, where it gave way just enough to offer a place of growth a place of home to new life. I had gone out that night to a restaurant that offered some of the best food that I had in a long while and amazing cocktails and wine to pair with it. I found myself in good conversation with the bartender and for the time I was there I weaved my wave through the menu ordering a number of dishes and desserts and eating them all completely. It was a satisfying meal from the food to the drinks to meeting and conversing with a great person that I wouldn’t have met otherwise. On my Uber ride back to where I was renting a room I felt good, satiated and was ready for what the rest of the trip had to offer; so many restaurants and bars to choose from – I was in my element and I looked forward to exploring as many as I could. Hike in the morning – drink and eat in the evening. The life!
And it would have been fun, it would have been a great path and it would have further enforced the desire to go out and talk to people, to be social in this way because, in those situations, I felt comfortable, a drink or two loosened the knots of that third threads the protecting thread, for just enough time that I could be me, I could express myself and talk to people who I may not have been able to talk to otherwise.
It was a path that I could keep walking on, a path that I would continue to find a bit of myself at times, where I could find a sense of belonging. A path that I could still walk if I chose to.
But there was another path that had started to come into my awareness in December of last year, a path that looked different and that offered something different. I saw myself walking this path but didn’t understand what it was or why I was walking it. The path that I saw in my mind was faint and surrounded by a white-washed near nothingness. There were perhaps some scraggly shrubs and some rocks along the edges but otherwise a blank canvas, if you will. As I saw this path I saw myself walking alone on it.
That first night in Sedona, after enjoying the wonderful meal, drinks and conversation I went to bed feeling good and woke up two hours later feeling awful. My body ached, my stomach was in knots and I couldn’t get comfortable. Then the emotions kicked in. I thought of all the things I didn’t have in life. I thought of Teresa. I thought of the e-mails and work that I hadn’t done since starting the trip. I thought of all that I hadn’t done and felt anxious of all of life left to live. I felt lonely and guilty and felt like I lacked any kind of belonging in the world. I thought of the people, the groups, that I wanted to find belonging – true belonging – with. I thought of my kids and how much I missed the and questioned my ability to continue to be a good father to them.
I felt it all physically and emotionally and truly desired a different way. I desired that different path, whether I had to do it alone or not I wanted to try it, I wanted to see what life would be like lived in a different way.
It was a path that I had wanted to walk but couldn’t quite find my way on to it.
The seed, caught on a wind one day and blown hither and thither, had no way to control where it went or when it would land. After a time the winds moved on and the seed floated back to the earth back to where it belonged. The crack in the boulder. Surely this would be the end of the seeds story, it missed the soils of it’s fellow trees by mere inches, a measurement so small yet the difference between a more assured life and one snuffed out before it began.
And yet.
And yet, this crack, formed from the cycle of moisture and freeze fell to the earth and into this boulder’s wound at just the right time where a bit of moisture persisted and waited for it’s time to freeze and expand its realm. The seed landed in this pool of moisture, a pool that wasn’t too big nor too small, and began its life. As the seed took its tiny drinks of water and sprouted from its shell, it felt the rays of warmth from the rays of sunlight that shown into the depths of the crack just enough to give this seedling a direction to stretch out to in hopes of soaking in more of this nourishing light, this nourishing warmth. As it continued to sip the moisture, moisture that had mixed with the eroding rock and creating a sustaining cocktail of needed minerals, the seedling found just enough purchase for its tiny roots and, as these roots found stronger toeholds in the boulder, it grew upward, until it just peeked out of the top of the canyon walls it found itself in and beheld a whole new world.
As the new day dawned and I continued to fitfully sleep, if at all, I stirred myself from the bed, grabbed water and set out for a hike on an empty stomach and no sunscreen. As the hike progressed and I was reminded how much warmer the sun was in Arizona and how much less shade there was in Sedona, I found myself wondering what I was doing to myself. I questioned whether I could make the trek that I was trying to make and began really tuning into how my body was feeling and coming to the realization that I had some choice in how my body felt. That I could choose to take care of it better just as I had been trying to take care of myself emotionally. I started to feel a deeper connection with my body and felt a deepening into the desire to start making better choices.
A belonging was forming and I wanted to nurture that in whatever way felt best.
That first thread, the thread of feeling like I didn’t belong was given some slack and it’s tautness was loosened allowing it some space to sway on the gentle breeze of this new sense of self, of belonging.
The second thread, the one that desired to belong but didn’t know how or if it were even possible, began weaving its self into a pattern that it desired to create all along but couldn’t until the first and third threads loosened their different grips and knots on it to allow it to find it’s meaning.
The third thread, the one that needed to protect the overall project from ruin and failure, the one that wanted to ensure that the project was perfect before revealing itself at a cost of even allowing the other threads to create the project at all, was untied from the other threads and has been lovingly set to the side. The intentions were good and appreciated but it’s time to create and be whatever the flaws, hurts and sadness may come of that process. I still hear you loud and clear when you desire to go back to safety and a path that is known but, right now, you can rest.
As these three threads continue to be unwound in order to find their true purpose, I see a fourth thread forming, a thread that links my current self to the past iterations and offers them an avenue to join together at this time to feel this burgeoning since of belonging and to know that they did and always have belonged.
To the boy who wanted so desperately to find a way to use his voice to hold conversations with his dad as they went out metal detecting and marking wagon roads. The boy who wanted to ask questions but felt too insecure to do so. To the boy who wanted to tell his dad that, regardless of what we found on any given day, it was the time spent with him, the time spent in nature, the time spent in a place where no one else was around; those were truly the important finds. The peace and companionship in those experiences were special and cherished whether I could express them at the time or not.
To the boy and, later, young man, who saw other boys playing rambunctiously and seeming to have a freedom to express themselves and be as they chose and not understanding how they did it but wanting to know what that felt like all the same. To the older version who saw many of these same boys grow up and find their way in the world, in conversations with girls, in relationships with girls, while you again felt an inability to follow suit despite wanting to know how this too felt.
To the iteration of me who found love, and had the good fortune to spend the next twenty years of his life with Teresa, with his love, and started a family resulting into incredible kids, but still didn’t feel that he was good enough to be Teresa’s husband, to be the parent of his two boys. Who was more completely himself at times but still desired to feel like he was good enough for Teresa’s love, good enough to be loved by his children, who still held back out of fear because, in fact, he didn’t feel like he belonged within himself, that he was in intruder within his own life.
To my 43-year-old self, that iteration of me, who three days after turning 43, lost his love on her 42nd birthday, who lost the sense of belonging and home that he had as her beautiful soul departed the earth. This version of me who felt that crack form from a truly seismic event and wondered if there would ever be any healing, any recovering from it, or if the split would run completely down the middle of my being and damage it in a way that I could not recover from. This version of me wondered if belonging would ever occur again in any way or form and whether love could ever be felt or received again.
To these iterations of me and all in-between, I invite you all to the now. Take hold of this new thread and join this iteration of me to find belonging together, find belonging wholly and within. You are welcome here, you belong here and you are loved for who you are as you are.
As the seedling became the sapling and then a full-blown tree, its roots continued to find purchase in the space given and, as it grew stronger worked in conjunction with the water to create just enough space to continue its growth. The boulder, for its part, continued to offer the part of it that could nurture the part of this new life, this life that was growing from a part of it that was a rift within itself. This was the reason that it fell from the cliff face, it’s home, and landed it here, where the rift could be created and offer a place of home to the tree. Perhaps, even, the tree that was once a seed blowing in the winds of life could even be said to have healed this rift within the boulder.
The new path that I saw, a path that I have been taking steps toward since Teresa’s passing, continues to look like a blank slate, an unknown. There are steps that I have taken on it that have scared me into nearly, abandoning it for the known and, perceived, safer path. There are steps that I have taken that have brought me to feeling more wholeness and presence than I could have imagined. There are steps that have felt lonely and have come with a sense of loss of leaving a well-known and loved path. There are steps where I thought I had to do this alone, walk this path alone and there have now been steps that have led me to the realization that this isn’t my path to walk alone, but it is my path alone to walk. I’m walking this path with many beside my own, paths that sometimes merge and a deeper connection and closeness is felt and where these paths sometimes diverge and we see each other only from afar, but are no less connected. Each step is a step into this blank slate and each step I take I know, no matter the emotion felt at the time, that this is the path that I have desired. That this path will continue to provide the nutrients and conditions needed for the new growth within to continue to emerge from the vast canyon walls created from the loss of Teresa.