Every Beautiful Life Has Its Own Form of Maintenance
The parts we don't always see
#51
The transition from Texas to Oregon is complete.
Weeks of planning, buying the necessary essentials (yes, that does include all my favorite face and hair products!), packing, cleaning out my apartment in Texas, giving away plants, storing my car at a friend's house… there are many logistical pieces that come with living in two places, and I am certainly not complaining. It's simply another layer of life that I have consciously chosen because I love what it allows me to experience.
Sometimes I think we look at someone else's life and only see the pretty parts. The sunsets, the travel, the lake, the new home, the adventures. What we don't often see are the Costco runs, the packing, the duplicate supplies, the organizing, the flights, the driving, and all the little decisions that quietly support the life we say we want.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that every beautiful life has its own form of maintenance.
Oregon in the summertime usually brings milder temperatures, and here at the lake it is much cooler than Texas, a little grayer, and filled with the serenity that nature always seems to offer me. Yesterday, after arriving, I took a long hot salt bath, watched birds swoop, dive and chatter across the water, and felt my whole body begin to exhale.
What struck me most this year, though, was how much love surrounded the journey itself.
When I landed in Portland, a dear friend, who also happens to be my longtime hairdresser, picked me up at the airport and welcomed me into her home for the night. The next morning she took me to her salon and refreshed my hair before one of my closest friends picked me up. We spent the afternoon together over lunch, made a Trader Joe's run, and then she dropped me off at my parents' house.
A few hours later Tim arrived, and the four of us enjoyed dinner together, talked, watched a little television, and simply settled into being together again. The next morning Tim and I had breakfast with my parents before packing up his car, making a Costco run, and beginning the familiar drive back to the lake.
As I reflected on those first two days, I realized something beautiful. In less than forty-eight hours I had been cared for by two close friends, spent precious time with my parents, and was reunited with the man I love. Every transition, every errand, every mile of the journey was wrapped in connection.
The logistics were still there. The packing, the shopping, the organizing, the driving. But somehow they became lighter because they were shared. And driving those last two hours to the lake with Tim beside me felt so much sweeter than making the trip alone.
Life, of course, continues moving right alongside all of that. I continue my weekly meditations with my Lightworkers group as we hold the intention of bringing more heart-centered energy to the planet. I met with my spiritual coach to move through some heavier emotions that had surfaced, and I spent time listening to a couple astrologers whose perspectives have helped me understand the incredible shifts many people are sensing right now.
Whether you follow astrology or not isn't really the point.
What continues to resonate with me is the reminder that we are always being invited to notice our thoughts, become aware of the stories we continue repeating, and gently release what no longer serves us. We are not meant to spend our lives carrying unnecessary fear. I truly believe we are here to experience more joy, grace, ease, and love than many of us allow ourselves to receive.
While staying with my parents, my mom, at 83 years old and still one of the most curious lifelong learners I know, shared something that immediately captured my attention. She had been listening to a discussion between physicists exploring the idea that perhaps we aren't simply energy, as we've heard for years, but expressions of Light itself. Energy is simply one expression of that Light.
I don't know whether science will ultimately prove that to be true, but something about it resonated deeply with me.
Perhaps all of the work we do to heal, forgive, grow, and love isn't about becoming someone different at all. Perhaps it's simply about allowing more of our own Light to come through. That thought has stayed with me.
This summer is also being talked about in some circles as an extraordinary period of change, with June, July, and August marking a rare transition of the outer planets. Whether or not you follow astrology, I think we can all agree that the world feels different right now. There is an invitation to become more conscious of how we respond to life, how we treat one another, and how we choose to move through uncertainty.
As I write this, an older gentleman has quietly paddled by in his kayak while a gentle rain begins falling across the lake. Watching nature move so effortlessly reminds me of something I continue practicing every day: meeting people with compassion, offering grace whenever I can, and remembering that everyone is carrying something we may never fully understand.
The older I get, the more I realize that creating a meaningful life isn't built on extraordinary moments alone. It's built through ordinary choices.
Packing the suitcase.
Making the grocery run.
Showing up for meditation.
Sharing meals with people we love.
Accepting a ride from a friend.
Saying yes to help.
Driving familiar roads.
Listening to birds across the water.
Holding the people we love close while we have the opportunity.
These quiet acts may not seem remarkable on their own, but together they become the life we were hoping to create all along.
As you can probably tell by now, I receive support from many different places: nature, friendships, family, spiritual practice, meaningful conversations, and quiet moments alone. Whatever fills your heart and reminds you who you are, I hope you'll continue making space for more of it.
Sometimes the life we're looking for isn't found in the next destination.
Sometimes it's quietly being built through the ordinary moments we're living today.
To your highest and best,
Dianna
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