"I feel that one day’s best is another day’s worst, and that’s ok." Yes, it is okay. Let us normalize this. 🩵 Breaking and building up. A continual restrengthening. Thank you for being here and sharing.
Such a wonderful post filled with lived out wisdom. Thank you for sharing it Alex. "I fled and chose at the same time. That’s not a contradiction. That’s just what choosing looks like when you’re honest about all of what’s moving you" That, mindset, the Geographic Cure: How when we struggle and then choose to move to a new location thinking our problems won't come with us. It's such an interesting idea that must in some ways be drawn into our DNA. Some form of a survival mechanism switched on in times of stress. Like some strange form of epigenetics tied to wanting to live a life less stressed out.
"I was rooted down in a place I’d never fully chosen, bound by the life I’d built there." How powerful. "I was crying while building. Grieving while planting. Hurting while choosing." This is such an important post, Alexander. There is so much more wisdom here than these two powerful lines, but I believe they tease the depth of the message. It is not the world we are here to learn from, its our relationship to it and experience in it, from which we can learn so much if we dare to live that much. Thank you for daring to live that much and sharing it with us.
I live in the suburbs for 7 years. I’ve lived in the city for 65 years. I’m still not sure where I belong. Thank you sharing so deeply of yourself. Your writing is mesmerizing to me.
Alex, so many layers and beautiful takeaways in this piece. It resonated in a way that seemed as if you were peering inside of my brain. Thank you for sharing, for eloquently sharing your story, for being here. I like the softening, the being, the aliveness while healing. A new perspective. I’m here for it.
I "fled" in my divorce. I left the city, not for the country, but for the road. I left groundedness in a home for freedom of travel. And eventually, I ended up back in the city. And, it was the both/and of those travel days...the grieving what I left behind, the running away from the pain...AND the moving forward into new directions, the running toward something new...it was years before I stopped feeling the pain of the scar on a daily basis. And now, I can barely remember what it felt like even when I rub the weathered skin of the emotional scars.
I think the both/and of running from and running toward, of feeling (even wallowing) in the grief at the same moment as dreaming and stepping into the future is the full aliveness of it all.
could aliveness be both the liminal space AND the crossover space? well duh, of course it is.
Beautiful follow up to your last post about the house. I love how you don’t shy away from the deep pain we often must bear to find light even brighter than before.
"The cultural script says: heal first, then live. Get through the grief. Process the trauma. Do the work. And then, once properly put back together, you can start your new life."
This resonates so strongly. It is something I have discovered in little bits and pieces throughout all the lows in my life.
I love reading whatever you have to say--there are so many truths in your words. Thank you.
This is beautiful, Alex. (But of course it would be.) First, the cedar garden beds--may I admit I am a wee bit jealous? Love them. The real comment starts here, though: I agree that living in a rural setting offers a much simpler life, room to breathe. I miss it more than I ever write about. The thing is, I was raised a city gal and never knew differently until my husband and I ended up in a small town (seriously like Mayberry) and started our life as newlyweds there.
It was at this country home where I brought home Felicity, then Sarah, and where I learned about homesteading. We had a vibrant vegetable garden, planted two Bartlett pear trees, pruned the existing grapevine, harvested herbs galore (mostly spearmint, which I made for tea). I had a clothes line for drying sheets in the spring breeze. It really was idyllic in so many ways, even though we lived on Main Street.
With one blinking stoplight, Felicity and I often strolled to the post office to pick up our mail (there was no mail delivery to homes), where Bruce and Greg, the postal workers, knew each of us by name and would chat about life (Bruce was a runner, Greg often showed us photos of his granddaughter named Arielle, named after the Little Mermaid).
Anyway, I miss it. We moved back to the city of my childhood because of my husband's job, but also to be closer to the majority of Sarah's doctors and specialists. And she has such an excellent team, really, but my heart misses the slower pace of rural living. I hate being in the thick of constant noise and "no chickens allowed" (because we were going to start a chicken coop) and impatient people everywhere.
So this is good you are nourishing yourself in more ways than one. So so good.
Choosing the slowness, resourcefulness over vapid consumption, and recognizing the aliveness in those choices while seeking aliveness and quiet in the ordinary--such powerful moments. Thank you for sharing this.
Dr Lovell, I have felt this kind of breaking and building back up so many times in my lifetime.
I feel that one day’s best is another day’s worst, and that’s ok.
Thank you for being such a sage and erudite voice for us all.
Kindest regards and respect
Carol Power
Johannesburg
South Africa
"I feel that one day’s best is another day’s worst, and that’s ok." Yes, it is okay. Let us normalize this. 🩵 Breaking and building up. A continual restrengthening. Thank you for being here and sharing.
I've fled and I've chosen, but never both together.
I live in the countryside on a third acre lot. I have finally managed to make my garden work this summer and have given away tomatoes. I have arrived!
I am so glad you have made your third-acre lot work! It can (and will) work! It just takes work 🩵
Yes! Our soil is predominantly windswept, decomposing pine needles mixed with sand and rocks, so our compost bins are doing a lot of the work.
And you have shown the world what birds, calm and the lake sound like if I'm not mistaken :)
Yes, it's lovely here in the early morning. This time of year when the sun is not rising at 0500 is wonderful in New Hampshire.
All I will say today is I am very grateful that you are in my we world and life.Please keep shining dear one.♥️💚🌟
Thank you, Nancy. I am grateful YOU are in my world too. Thank YOU for being here, showing up, and sharing too. 🩵
Such a wonderful post filled with lived out wisdom. Thank you for sharing it Alex. "I fled and chose at the same time. That’s not a contradiction. That’s just what choosing looks like when you’re honest about all of what’s moving you" That, mindset, the Geographic Cure: How when we struggle and then choose to move to a new location thinking our problems won't come with us. It's such an interesting idea that must in some ways be drawn into our DNA. Some form of a survival mechanism switched on in times of stress. Like some strange form of epigenetics tied to wanting to live a life less stressed out.
"I was rooted down in a place I’d never fully chosen, bound by the life I’d built there." How powerful. "I was crying while building. Grieving while planting. Hurting while choosing." This is such an important post, Alexander. There is so much more wisdom here than these two powerful lines, but I believe they tease the depth of the message. It is not the world we are here to learn from, its our relationship to it and experience in it, from which we can learn so much if we dare to live that much. Thank you for daring to live that much and sharing it with us.
Am loving this so much for you.. the quiet of the countryside, the relying on yourself, the more growing less consuming aspect of country living.
It’s a gentler way of being than the city.
It’s for me too.
"Right plant in right place"
teach Master Gardeners for
optimal blooming.
I live in the suburbs for 7 years. I’ve lived in the city for 65 years. I’m still not sure where I belong. Thank you sharing so deeply of yourself. Your writing is mesmerizing to me.
Alex, so many layers and beautiful takeaways in this piece. It resonated in a way that seemed as if you were peering inside of my brain. Thank you for sharing, for eloquently sharing your story, for being here. I like the softening, the being, the aliveness while healing. A new perspective. I’m here for it.
I "fled" in my divorce. I left the city, not for the country, but for the road. I left groundedness in a home for freedom of travel. And eventually, I ended up back in the city. And, it was the both/and of those travel days...the grieving what I left behind, the running away from the pain...AND the moving forward into new directions, the running toward something new...it was years before I stopped feeling the pain of the scar on a daily basis. And now, I can barely remember what it felt like even when I rub the weathered skin of the emotional scars.
I think the both/and of running from and running toward, of feeling (even wallowing) in the grief at the same moment as dreaming and stepping into the future is the full aliveness of it all.
could aliveness be both the liminal space AND the crossover space? well duh, of course it is.
Insightful....helpful...thankyou.
Beautiful follow up to your last post about the house. I love how you don’t shy away from the deep pain we often must bear to find light even brighter than before.
"The cultural script says: heal first, then live. Get through the grief. Process the trauma. Do the work. And then, once properly put back together, you can start your new life."
This resonates so strongly. It is something I have discovered in little bits and pieces throughout all the lows in my life.
I love reading whatever you have to say--there are so many truths in your words. Thank you.
This is beautiful, Alex. (But of course it would be.) First, the cedar garden beds--may I admit I am a wee bit jealous? Love them. The real comment starts here, though: I agree that living in a rural setting offers a much simpler life, room to breathe. I miss it more than I ever write about. The thing is, I was raised a city gal and never knew differently until my husband and I ended up in a small town (seriously like Mayberry) and started our life as newlyweds there.
It was at this country home where I brought home Felicity, then Sarah, and where I learned about homesteading. We had a vibrant vegetable garden, planted two Bartlett pear trees, pruned the existing grapevine, harvested herbs galore (mostly spearmint, which I made for tea). I had a clothes line for drying sheets in the spring breeze. It really was idyllic in so many ways, even though we lived on Main Street.
With one blinking stoplight, Felicity and I often strolled to the post office to pick up our mail (there was no mail delivery to homes), where Bruce and Greg, the postal workers, knew each of us by name and would chat about life (Bruce was a runner, Greg often showed us photos of his granddaughter named Arielle, named after the Little Mermaid).
Anyway, I miss it. We moved back to the city of my childhood because of my husband's job, but also to be closer to the majority of Sarah's doctors and specialists. And she has such an excellent team, really, but my heart misses the slower pace of rural living. I hate being in the thick of constant noise and "no chickens allowed" (because we were going to start a chicken coop) and impatient people everywhere.
So this is good you are nourishing yourself in more ways than one. So so good.
Thankyou for your posts, they are speaking to me so powerfully right now.
Choosing the slowness, resourcefulness over vapid consumption, and recognizing the aliveness in those choices while seeking aliveness and quiet in the ordinary--such powerful moments. Thank you for sharing this.