From Here, We Can Have It All
Making room for the fullness of life
#56
I've officially moved back to Texas, and the weeks leading up to it were filled with planning, packing, shipping, rethinking the plans, making sure I hadn't forgotten any logistics, having the car battery replaced by our friend who was watching my car, hearing from friends excited that I was returning and already asking when we could get together, making sure work knew my schedule and my calendar had the updated hours—and, of course, keeping up with the house progress!
There are now walls and doors and trim, all the outside brick is up, and tile and flooring are being installed. She's coming along beautifully, and before I know it, it will be time—one more time—to move.
All of these logistics can feel crushing at times, and I'm reminded of being a single mom for ten years, keeping track of all the details for my kids. This time, I'm keeping track of them for myself. I've decided that managing this many moving parts might actually be one of my superpowers, and underneath all of the lists and logistics is something I don't want to lose sight of: I am creating a life I would love.
There was lots of family time during my final weeks at the lake, with Tim's son and his friends enjoying time on the water, followed by a couple of days in town seeing his family and mine before I flew out. I was able to have some deeper conversations with my dear friend Thi, my mom, and then my son as he drove me to the airport. I truly treasure these catches of time—a few hours here and there, precious moments tucked into all the movement—and being present for those heart connections.
Before leaving the lake, I took a morning to ship another round of personal belongings to Texas, where I'll store everything in the apartment until I move into the new home in a couple of months. Tim and I also managed to visit a couple of Oregon wineries during those final weeks, bringing our summer total to three. Being that each one is an hour from the lake, I considered that a success in itself. We made the time.
Transitions, even the ones we choose, have a way of stretching us. Each time I move from one location to another, something has to adjust—not only in the practical sense, but within my relationships as well. Each person has to know themselves enough to communicate what they need, and that can be a tall order for everyone involved. These are skills most of us didn't learn growing up, and when we run into a wall, the challenge is learning not to add more bricks to it, but to figure out how to remove them so our hearts can remain open.
Partnership isn't always easy. It requires communication and effort, and when you stack that on top of everything else happening in life, it can certainly feel like a lot to hold. At the same time, I love my partnership with Tim, just as I've come to recognize how much I love and need my autonomy. Both can be true.
I didn't write an essay when the last one was scheduled to be published a couple of weeks ago. I made the space to write, sat and meditated for a couple of hours, and even in those quiet early-morning hours, nothing wanted to emerge. So even though I wanted to maintain my regular writing schedule, it wasn't going to happen on my timeline, and I had to let it go.
That is WAY easier said than done for someone who can coordinate flights, shipping boxes, work calendars, car batteries, construction schedules, and another cross-country move.
I can plan—and clearly, I do—but life doesn't always care about my calendar. I'm learning to leave some room for that too.
Being back in my apartment is so much fun! As soon as the plane touched down and I walked outside to grab my Lyft, I knew this was the right place to be. I love the autonomy of being on my own for a while, and as I write this, I'm sitting in bed with my granola and yogurt, doing what I want when I want, and simply enjoying being in my own energy. I love my alone time, and I love my partnership time. I don't need one to diminish the other.
I literally arrived yesterday evening, and after several hours of unpacking, I still have a couple more to go. I made one grocery run to begin stocking myself back up, and the one random thing that somehow seems to exist in abundance until you need them is hangers. I left more than fifty at the lake and had packed about twenty in one of my suitcases, only to discover at the airport that my bag was overweight, so out came the hangers. Now I'm back at the apartment needing more hangers in order to finish unpacking. I'm laughing even writing that.
A couple we're friends with watched my car while I was away, and it was lovely to say a quick hello and get hugs before driving back to the apartment. Then, while I was out getting groceries, a beautiful rainbow appeared. Later came an incredible sunset over the water. Earth wonder and wow—beauty all around.
And now I'm back to hearing birdsong outside my window along with the traffic. It's a much different rhythm from the lake, which is very, very quiet and remote. That feeds Tim's soul, and I'm grateful to be there for a time, just as I am ready now to be back in a little more energy.
Both can be true.
There was an incredible moment one afternoon a couple of weeks ago that I haven't fully processed yet, and perhaps that's because I'm not sure an experience like this is meant to be understood intellectually.
Tim had taken his son and his friends out for the afternoon, and I was by myself on a glorious sunny day. I was working through some difficult feelings, opened a bottle of champagne, turned on music, and began playing rounds of solitaire with actual cards while looking out over the water.
And then something happened.
What came over me felt like the hand of Spirit opening my heart to such a degree that, for a moment, I could feel what I can only describe as our truest nature as humans in its purest form of Love. It was painful and beautiful and shocking all at once—the intensity of being that open and feeling that much Love.
I've experienced a few moments of what I would call divine intervention in my life, and every time I am gifted that level of awareness, I remember how deeply cherished each and every one of us is by Source itself.
And in that moment, a phrase came to me:
"From here, you will have it all."
I've thought about those words ever since.
"Having it all" has become so distorted in our culture. It can sound like more money, more success, more possessions, more power, the perfect relationship, the perfect house—the idea that if we can accumulate or accomplish enough, we'll finally arrive somewhere where nothing is missing.
That's not what those words meant to me at all.
Having it all felt like this.
The quiet lake and the traffic outside my Texas window. Partnership and solitude. Carefully made plans and the things that refuse to happen according to them. A new house taking shape and twenty missing hangers. Difficult feelings and an open heart. The life I've intentionally created and all the parts of it I could never have orchestrated myself.
None of it has to cancel out the rest.
There will always be things I can plan, organize, build, and choose, and there will always be parts of life asking me to release what I thought should happen next. I'm beginning to understand the fullness isn't found on one side or the other.
It's in being here for all of it.
Perhaps that is the Heaven on Earth I felt so intensely that afternoon—not a life where everything is perfect, but a life I am willing to experience fully.
From here, we can have it all.
To your highest and best,
Dianna
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