This story starts with fear
After a 30 plus year career in health care sustainability, I have resigned from my current employment, where I have been for 18 years. My last day of work is January 7.
The story starts with fear. Fear as a resting place. Fear sits there, like a cat hiding in the grass, patiently watching its prey, waiting to leap at the perfect moment. Up until now it’s been managed by maintaining comfort - a solid job, consistent salary, repetition, busy lifestyle, trying to ensure a clear path forward. I was raised with financial privilege - as safety, love, security. I’ve always had that safety net.
My life isn’t without its adventures - I love adventure. But adventure always had a job in the background - something to come back to. And then I’d come home to my schedule, garden, kids, friends and warmth of my cozy bed with my cat and audible books. I feel safe in the environment I have created - in the life I carefully constructed for myself. I like it. And I could keep doing this. That would be the comfortable thing to do. It’s what the retirement advisor advised me to do. But my spirit yearns for something more.
So while I knew the cat was there all along, I didn’t realize how powerful she was. I didn’t realize that all of the constructs gave me a false sense of safety. My next initiation will be the wide open field of no job and no agenda in a foreign place - and there won’t be any tasks to hide behind or relationship to hold onto. When I first resigned from my job the fear would ebb and flow. But for the last month, as the date approaches, there has been a consistent storminess of fear - an energy that won’t cease - won’t reprieve. I try to turn away from her - distract myself with planning and sugary treats. I think it’s getting a tad, just a touch, easier. I’m slowly getting used to the sting of the shock and sense the beginning of it settling down. If I think of it like my morning Kundalini Yoga icy shower - I used to hate it - yes that’s a strong word - it’s a shocking feeling. But I have gotten used to it over the years - perhaps I can approach fear knowing that it will get easier with practice. Perhaps I could just pretend it’s an icy shower and see it as having the same results which is a strengthening of the nervous system, a clearing of energy.
When people say I’m retiring - no - that’s a no - the word feels wrong. Retire means to pull away from something - that’s accurate - but retiring sounds done and I feel like I’m just getting started. Quitting my job is one of the boldest acts of courage I could ever imagine. I’m intentionally and willingly stepping into a tornado of nervous energy. The word “retirement” sounds relaxing - like snoozing in a rowboat while fishing in calm water. Maybe I’ll do that someday - but first order will be meditating in and working through fear of the unknown. First order of business is facing the powerful cat in the tall grass. Facing the future demands vulnerability and the courage to swim in turbulent waters — walking the forest with no worn path. Learning to slow down. Learning to be okay with right now.
Holding on tight to past events is part of my safety strategy. I am mentally prying things out of my clenches - finger by finger and letting go. I’m cutting energetic cords. I focus on my breath, trying to look forward and not back. This letting go phase of things has played out in at least two literal ways - one is my car. Poor Martha needed a new gas tank, exhaust pipe and catalytic converter - this young lady from 2005 needed over $3,000 in care. The cost of care tipped enough to have the decision made for me. I shed a tear. Chanted Akaal for her and let her go. Then my washing machine broke. Bang bang bang and smoke rising up from the engine was a clear sign that all was not well. I was prepared to invest in her, preferring to fix the relationship than start a new one. But again, the cost of her care was more than her value. I had to let her die too. She didn’t have a name. She was the washing machine. I have no choice but to let these two things die. I asked and received this literal guidance from my spirit team to help me do the same with my past. Can I use them to practice allowing energies, relationships and memories die gracefully as well? Can I let myself know that the things I cling to are much like Martha or the washer? Their role in my life is over and there is no more to their story line. It’s not good or bad - it’s not right or wrong - it’s just the way it is. It’s beyond my control or my choice. In my meditation, I name the relationships that are broken or otherwise finished and not meant to be repaired. I notice, at night, my mind wants to go back, because it’s comforting - like a salve. It’s harder to look forward when I can’t pretend I know what’s there. I don’t know what to look at. I don’t know what to think about. I see many paths in front of me - a spiritual path - a literal path.
So that’s where we start. Fear.
And making friends with this fierce cat. Good news. I love cats. I’m a cat lady. I am a fierce cat. I welcome the guidance of jaguar. The cat with no predator. She gives me courage to be bold.
First stop is the Malaekahana Beach Campground on Oahu’s north shore for three days, before heading to the Big Island, where I’ll be staying in Kapaau for an undetermined period of time.
Here’s what I do know: My kundalini yoga practice will continue - pre dawn - cold shower, breathing, postures, movement, meditation, and mantra will ground me - every morning. Long walks. Writing. Listening. A cleansing diet. Purification in salt water. Early to bed and early to rise.
