What This Summer Taught Me About Grief, Freedom, and Becoming

I am in the air somewhere over Pennsylvania, flying back to New York City after three weeks away. Kiva, my angel shih tzu, is tucked in beside me, and I think we are both ready for the comforts of home after nearly a month of living out of a suitcase - and the particular rumbling that comes with being shaken out of routine. 

This was the first big trip I have taken solely for myself since an epic sojourn in the beginning of 2023. My experience since enduring the death of my fiancé, Ben, has been that I latch onto routine. Now, I have to admit, this has always been my fallback. I struggle with anxiety and bouts of depression, and in an attempt to manage those tendencies, I constantly scramble to enact order into my life. The unhealthy version of these “systems” come in the shape of over-scheduling, attaching myself to work loads that are unhealthy, disordered eating and reliance upon a glass (or two) of wine in the evening. The healthier version usually looks a lot like getting my movement in, taking care of my plants and pup and getting a good night’s rest (with a siesta often thrown in as well). Real life tends to blur those lines, and lately, the unhealthy routines had often prevailed.

But these past 3 weeks shook me up.  Something broke loose within me - something sacred that I both recognized intimately and at the same time felt like uncharted territory. It was as if I’d been given a chance at a new way of operating...a reclaiming and a rebirth all at once. If I had to name it, I would say it felt like Freedom. Maybe Peace. A deep knowing that called back to the free spirit I have always been but got lost along the way, and a promise not to let that magical butterfly-like feeling get away from me again. 

One of my favorite quotes from Pema Chödrön is: “Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us.” I resonate deeply with this quote and used to have it pinned above my desk during a particularly difficult period in life. I feel as if another version of “Lindsay” has just dissolved—a process I have experienced again and again throughout my journey of loss and life. Each time I emerge from the depths of grief, I find a deeper connection to myself and a clearer alignment with the path of my life as it now stands. So while the shattering of carefully constructed identities has shown me who I am more clearly, I’m also rediscovering the comfort that comes from trusting I’m exactly where I need to be in the moments after the earthquake. 

This latest return to self has inspired me to finally take charge of my life. It feels as if I have been granted permission to sit back in the driver’s seat again. I very much want this inspired version to stick around. And rather than relying upon sheer willpower to hold onto it, I ask; how do I continually choose to stay in the light of my truest self? How do I realize when I have slipped into a rut, and what are the ways in which I can lift myself back into the present moment before losing my way again?

This balancing act is still new. To begin, I am slowing down. I am embracing the end of summer by looking up at the clouds and giving myself permission to simply watch them float by. I am cooking my meals intentionally and sipping on hot water with lemon and a ginger. I am noticing when I start rushing, trying to juggle five things at once while accomplishing none - because I am not a circus performer. I am also learning to listen sooner to the voice inside me that screams when something doesn’t feel right, and then to actually follow up by saying no or walking away. I am pondering my existence, and instead of berating myself for not knowing why I am here, or what my purpose is, I am giving that up as well. I am keeping my eyes on my own paper, completing what is in front of me, while still allowing dreams and goals to guide me forward. I am letting it all unfold. And God, does it feel good not push. There is still a small voice within me insisting that I am not doing enough...but that voice is my old friend, anxiety. And so I calmly and ever so politely tell her to shut the fuck up and let me be. 

Most importantly, I feel reconnected to the flow of life again. It’s as if I have reached a new level in this wicked game called “Grief”, and I am intentionally stepping off the ride. I know this won’t last forever. I know that there will still be memories or moments that will trigger my old companion. But that is a price I am willing to pay for having loved and been loved. I cannot escape adversity in this lifetime, but what I have learned is to not be afraid of the darkness. I am allowing myself to get comfy in there. Learn the lessons that need to be learned. Find curiosity - and perhaps a bit of joy - in the continual return to new selves. And with each return, I am creating a deeper foundation within myself, one that is indestructible, so that I can stand steady within any storm. 

In what ways do you find stillness or peace within the chaos of your life? I would love to hear from you. I am always open to questions. Thank you for being here and letting me share. 

With peace and steady feet,

Lindsay