be where your feet are ••
the bigger picture of all of it
Dear spirited human,
Fall is here and it’s been a week of feeling like a wet blanket — literally.
Damp. Humid. All of it. Not the cool, crisp we drove away from in Colorado.
I tried to soak it in… the subtle yellowing of the aspens, the brightness of the stars that spoke to me in unison, as I stuck my head out our side window in the night.
It was that feeling of being alive you can’t quite describe, but you know it when you feel it.
The truth is, at times we’ve considered giving up this life — this moving one we’ve created. Because of the times it’s simply felt like too much: too much transition, too much sensory, too much isolation, too much… you name it.
At the same time, we realized we hadn’t even lived it as free as it was made to be, which was a large part of our drive this summer to do just that.
Out there with the trees and the stars, no part of me wanted to give this up. This is the part I want more of. This is the part that feels most alive, to me.
And yet, we’ve also craved community. Though we find it on the road in ways, we’ve been yearning for it in a way where a place gives back to us as much as we give to it. We’ve explored what this idea means and looks like for us.
And last week we drove back to it — for the things we want more of in our story.
So, here we are. And it’s a wet blanket. And I admit to you I’m very affected by my surroundings even though I don’t want to be.
And while all summer long we were out there knowing, and even longing at times, for being back here, now that I’m here it doesn’t feel quite like I want it to.
I pictured crisp, cool.
Life is giving me soggy, haze.
And when we don’t get things how we want them, it’s too easy to just picture something else, or somewhere else, being the fix.
Andrew was quick to remind me about the dry, the dust, the wind. How my chapped, burnt lip just wouldn’t heal.
Oh, but how easy it is to forget when we’re uncomfortable in our bed or when our solar power won’t charge up because it hasn’t seen the sun in days.
The truth is, I do want to be here, and I knew this summer was setting us up for it.
The re-entry just wasn’t how I pictured it.
But that’s no reason to write it off. That’s the old way. (I wrote a song about this once).
This time last week Andrew and I celebrated 4 years in the Marshmellow (our home on wheels) in the same geographic place we first landed after setting sail. And we ran together for 4 hours, the most miles we’ve ever run.
(I like numerical patterns if you can tell).
We were soaked and it wasn’t the crisp, cool backdrop I pictured. But this entire summer has been about responding to things different than we always have, to land somewhere different than we’ve been. (Singing to the tune of “new life, baby!”)
So, here we are.
The wet is just wet and it too will pass. It’s the smaller storyline. The surface level distraction for the bigger picture of this life. The parts we’ve grown into and out of. This season of pouring more into the singular, while pouring more into ourselves.
I asked a dear friend the other day as she journeys out west: “What’s this journey for?”
I asked her the same way I continue to ask myself.
The truth is, the parts you don’t see are the times we’ve wanted to turn around, to quit, to say enough — this is too hard, too much, too… whatever.
I think we all experience this to some extent, no matter what journey we’re on.
The question is: is it worth enough to you to keep going on the path you’re on? To let go and let it be how it is, instead of fighting that it’s not how you pictured it?
A handful of days ago, Tara Dower broke the all-time human record for completing the Appalachian Trail in 40 days + some hours.
I think about where we were 40 days ago when she started, and how much has transpired since, while she’s averaged 50+ miles every day.
It’s unimaginable to me, and no part of me ever wants to attempt that. At the same time, it reminds me the ways we limit ourselves by what we think we can do, and how too often we talk ourselves out of even trying.
As we were out on our own two feet for a run the other night, while wiping the sweat from my eyes, I thought of Tara. I thought of her willingness to keep stepping. To keep trying without any guarantee.
I thought of all the feats we don’t give ourselves enough credit for.
And I do mean all of us.
I thought about the answer to the question I keep asking.
What’s this journey for? My answer is connection. Inside and outside. It’s letting each step shape me, and break me out of my head so I can really be present for the reality in front of me, even when it’s not what I pictured.
Bzzzzz the mower or the blower… one in the same. To ears that just want quiet long enough to hear the insides. I’ve been “up” for days. And for someone sensitive, to sensory I always know the down is coming. So today I’m lying down.
The spirit connect has been missing for me since we’ve been back here, in the wet. I haven’t quite been able to hear it over the lawn crews, or the train horn, but I know it’s still in there — within me.
The stars and the aspens, all the things that shaped me this summer into a different person than when I started. It’s all still there, even if it’s masked by this other circumstance.
Earlier this week, Andrew and I drove miles out on winding country roads to preview a running route we’re doing together this weekend as part of an event we’ve been working toward all summer.
Meanwhile, there’s this weather event that may or may not affect us.
For now, it remains wet. And I remain under it.
But this is it. It’s just wet. I tell myself.
Maybe the weather isn’t getting you down this week, but something else is.
That you can’t quite see your way through…
I said two little words out loud on the phone the other day to my traveling friend. “Wait, why did you say that?” she asked. Turns out she has the same reminder printed out and displayed on her dash.
Zoom out.
It’s a reminder I always need to give myself. I’ve found it’s the remedy for the bigger picture, always. It reminds us that beyond our human discomforts is not only the stars, but this whole world right in front of us we get to be part of.
How wild that we are alive right now breathing in this universe?
I try to come back here as many times as it takes, when I forget. When I go to a complaint, or a thought cycle, or the phone. Reminding myself to be where my feet are.
Here, I am guaranteed to find more good than not. That is, if spirit is connected to the zoomed out picture of all of this. And not what I’ve pictured in my own mind.
And so I keep coming home to the question I keep on asking myself — what is this journey for?
I will leave you with the same:
What is this journey of yours for?
Stay grounded,
Sarah
Tiny Home Tour »
We’ve thought (and overthought) how, where, and when to do a tour of our DIY box truck home-on-wheels — The Marshmellow (Marshy for short). And finally, we did it! In honor of our four year Marshy-versary. If you’re at all interested in our creative journey on wheels, please watch. And do let us know what you think in the Youtube comments, give us a thumbs up if you like it, and consider subscribing to our channel (any/all of these help us out). Here she is:
P.S. I was high on life and fall feelings in this video on a mountaintop. That’s obvious.
But also, I was in a zoomed out state of remembering that despite the challenges of this journey, how incredible and incredibly freeing it is that this is our reality.
(When we don’t forget it).