Loss & Change: A Personal Post
The past few months I’ve experienced loss. The kind that makes you feel like the rug (or any semblance of stability for that matter) has been swept out from under your feet. Where constants shatter & plans dissolve. Some were building over time, looming but never certain, while others caught me completely off guard. Things I didn’t expect to happen. Things I thought were years away.
I’m writing this cross legged on my dock. Surrounded by the water that raised me. My dog, Zen, beside me - interrupting frequently to give kisses and remind me of his presence. The Canadian autumn chill is unmistakably here and most of the leaves have turned. This is one of the last times I’ll be sitting here while it’s still ours, before I embark on a new journey, in a new place. That place, still completely unknown. At this moment I feel okay. At ease, even, despite memories that are hard to shake. Despite the emotions stored in my body - some new, others having claimed permanent residency spanning over many years.
Ease has always been the one word I connect to the most when thinking about how I most want to feel in my life. It’s a goal of mine, ease. To have moments of it despite hardships. To have internal peace, and to meet chaos with a sort of grace.
While I tend to be a private person, it’s been important to me that this be a place of relatability, truth, and above all else, be in dedication of enhancing the quality of lives. Something I learnt from my dad, who inspired a lot of what I do. My story is my story. There are so many people who have it so much worse. Because of that, I prefer to keep it quiet. There is something to be said for processing with yourself & a select few because it can be sacred, suffering. It really can.
I was with my dad when he passed. My younger sister and I held each one of his hands. Like the majority of our adolescence & early adulthood with him, not missing a beat. We knew what was coming before it came. And getting to that point was excruciating. It was a testament to how present you could be with a person before they left for good. How present you could be with a person when you knew for certain that time was running out. That you would not see them again - in this form or in this lifetime. To witness someone you love so deeply take their final breath is something that has proven to be extremely difficult to put into words. I won’t try. Not right now, at least.
I think that the majority of moments in our lives are meant to hold fractions of stillness, and are meant to be slow. Stillness between movement & the pace that is our world. Time to take it all in. I think that it may be about learning to recognize that the simplest of moments have the ability to stop you in your tracks. I think it may be about finding appreciation for being stopped in your tracks. From interactions with others to time spent in nature. It’s presence. It’s gratitude. It’s a surface level belief, and yet it runs so deep.
One of my favourite books in the meditation realm is called ‘When Things Fall Apart’ by Pema Chodron. In it she talks about the sensation of groundlessness, which I think a lot of people can relate to. It also touches on this universal concept that ‘the only constant is change’. We hear it all the time, we know the truth in it and yet, we still feel so resistant. Even if that change is welcomed. Even with excitement oftentimes we still feel fear. This is the great paradox.
“When we resist change, it’s called suffering. But when we can completely let go and not struggle against it, when we can embrace the groundlessness of our situation and relax into its dynamic quality, that’s called [...] freedom.”
- Pema Chodron
Understanding your suffering comes with time. Reason and reflection become available in hindsight. It is hard to gauge in the present. With loss comes evolution, a new way of moving through the world and a reminder that we’re really all just figuring it out as we go.
Growing up, every day my dad used to say “remember to look for the simple joys”. It was not only his motto, but his way of being. I’m settling into this new world without him. This new way of existing, which embraces change as the constant. Perhaps it’s the only thing we can do. Accepting that we cannot control, force, or change the bigger, unknown picture - the things that are not meant to be changed by us.
Maybe you can relate. Maybe not, that’s okay too :)
I’ll end with this; I hope you find something today that stops you in your tracks, something that slows you down. For the better and in the sake of presence.
xox, Jewels