on a personal note
notes on 'going again' & the early stages of grief
a candle is lit, coffee steam plumes into vast nothingness, and the last layer of yogurt is swiped from bowl to spoon to mouth. it’s colder than usual for a mid-august morning, but i keep the door open a foot to let the salt dew from the sea waft its way in. this is my favorite part about living here: the water. the immediacy in which i recall joyful childhood memories. they are few and far between and i must clutch them to my body like an armful of ripe walnuts in the death descent of september. careful not to break the skin - or it will stain.
this morning i came here to get all my thoughts out of my brain, out of my body. privacy is sacred to me, and it’s possible this will stay in ‘drafts’ forever, but i had the urge to be in community this way. i am thinking of
’s recent newsletter where they said “I can’t afford to live codependently with other people anymore — certainly not with their opinions of me. But I do want to live my life in service to others and their healing. Sharing my story has always been part of that.” i feel this too in my bones.i look out the screen door and watch my cat stretching and yawning, taking in the fresh air, sniffing the rotting deck wood, peering at the still branches of firs. sooner than we know it, we’ll be leaving here and i’m starting to question why i let myself do this again. am i addicted to moving? in some ways, this little cabin proves to me i’m not. it is the best place i’ve lived, the coziest home we’ve made, so why would i leave it behind if i wasn’t sure?
throughout my life i’ve made many decisions based on feeling. call it intuition, call it gods: it is there and i can’t deny it. i’ve had the feeling that i would move back to the east coast ever since i arrived on the west coast 6 years ago, hoping life (and free will) would prove me wrong. i inevitably put myself through the ringer before i decide. often wavering for months or years on end, i debate ‘are you freaking sure?‘ until wee hours of the morn, gesticulating wildly at the universe in an inflatable tube man manner, flipping divination cards, pouring wax into water.
my friendships and community feel so full here and continue to reach and grow in gorgeous streams. i think back to all the times i’ve left a place and conjure the memory of what was going through my mind. did life feel full then too? did it feel terribly bittersweet? did i have moments where my heart skipped a beat when i beheld the precious presence of friendship?
when people ask me why i’m leaving, i stare blankly at them for half a second in which everything flashes before my eyes. in that half second i see ocean waves, cedar fronds, amber bottles, the (gross) brown apothecary couch we plomped ourselves on, mountains climbed, glacial lakes revealed, seltzers shared, roaring fires in the woods at the home of my teacher, silly shakespearean hats, and us - gathered around the table with rapt ears and hearts, listening with intention.
i snap back to reality like an owl’s dream and try to explain this inevitable turning of the wheel in a clean sentence. it never quite hits.
i don’t want to say goodbye to the alders either. when i first left ny, lacking community, the plants were what held me. from an early age, i was schooled on how to be good at being alone. as i grew, i let it teach me how to love more fully because i no longer feared it. recounting this in this time is healing. recounting our inevitable connection to nature no matter the ‘where’, lends me peace. i look ahead to giant willows, oaks, and maple leaves. to the eeriness of those sparse blair witch forests, haunted as fuck. to my tall cottonwood acquaintance near forgotten gravestones.
but i don’t want to button this for you. i want to unbutton, to reveal the depths to which we can hold all-encompassing feelings. despite acceptance and my honest revelations, despite joy and excitement, i wonder still: ‘who will giggle with me when hawthorn is in bloom’, ‘who will i talk to about spirits of the dead?’
maybe the birch knows.
::
what else:
~ i’m taking a break from promoting on social media while i prioritize presence and working more at my day job. that said, the web shop is open! and i am still pleasantly wrapping your orders.
~ 2oz bottles of fresh milky oats are ready to wash over your summer-fried nervous system. check out the last newsletter to find out more about this supportive herb.
~ the last few bottles of this flower essence blend for meeting change, transition, and the underworld with curiosity and courage, are still available. i’ve had a dear friend reach out to recount their experience working with this essence and i was honored to hear their story. if you too would like to share your experience, please feel free to email me!
thank you for being here. if you like this newsletter, feel free to subscribe and share with a friend.
xx,
britt