Letters Home #34 💌

Writing from: Banff, Alberta

First of all, every once in a while I make a portion of my paid content free to view by all. This is why you’re seeing an excerpt of Letters Home 💌 even if you’ve not upgraded your subscription. I wanted you to see a sampling of some of the pieces that go out there, behind closed doors. They tend to be my most heartfelt articles, and this one, in particular, has felt important for me to put out into the wider universe.

Dear Ones —

Last I wrote it was from Romania. Looking back, I can remember the struggle I was in to get into the travel flow while my mind was engrossed in matters from home and my body was healing from several weeks of who knows what. I think I learned something on this last trip about my ability to work while I’m away. I don’t think I can expect so much from my brain — at least, not anymore. Between the logistics of travelling, especially with young children, and adapting to a new part of the world, I would need to be on a much longer trip in order to keep up with the demands of “life back home” (which when you’re a freelancer/entrepreneur follow you wherever you go). It’s a tricky balance. By the end of our trip, I was more in the travel flow and could have kept travelling for a long time. Alas, my kids were ready to come home.

We’re conjuring up plans for a longer stint abroad, but more on that later. 😊

Though the trip felt short, I came home with a shift in perspective on what my life looks like at 40. On the surface, there is absolutely nothing wrong with it. Yes, I’ve worked very hard for certain aspects of my lifestyle and livelihood, but I otherwise enjoy a privileged life. Compared to people suffering around the world, I would never for a moment take for granted that I am even about to say what I am about to say.

I’ve been feeling something deep-down for the past nine months or so. Call it a reckoning, perhaps an existential crisis. It’s this awareness that I need a change in my life. Sometimes it feels like a yearning for a considerable shake-up, like I’ll suddenly toss all my furniture upside down and run into the wilderness. Not that I feel like I need to escape my life. Not at all. The feeling is just there, in the pit of my stomach. I find myself questioning my routines and my motives for why I’m doing what I’m doing. I’m scrutinizing how I’m spending my time, money and energy (three things you can’t really have at the same time, by the way). Some of you may be thinking this is a midlife crisis of sorts and perhaps it is (I prefer to call it a midlife unravelling, à la Brené Brown). It does feel connected to my awareness that life is ridiculously short. I don’t want to waste a minute of it; I especially don’t want to keep the status quo just because it’s comfortable and familiar to me.

I heard a quote recently: Just because you can make something work it doesn’t mean it’s working.

And I can make something work for a long, long time.

For months I felt compelled to just sit with the feeling, to make no sudden movements. I wrote about it back in October, this need to resist the urge to run from impermanence. So, I’ve been sitting with it. Mulling it over with my morning coffee. Journalling here and there. Hiking and pondering.

And it was when we were on our way home from Europe recently that I had this weird sensation of feeling rebellious about my own life.

What would it look like to upend it, if even a little? To reinvent my priorities, my passion, my sense of purpose?