All I Wished For
Almost four years to the day after I wrote it, I was cleaning my studio and I found a list of wishes in an old blank book from 2007. Four years ago I was home all day caring for a baby and a three-year-old. I was just emerging from the hunting and gathering phase of our new life in Brooklyn (that Phyllis promised me would not last forever; as always, she was right) and I was starting to get the last of the boxes cleared out of the apartment.
Four years ago I didn't know many people in New York, and I didn't have much social energy to spare. Four years ago I had a dream of writing, but no assurance that I was on the right track at all or that writing was even worth doing. No idea if anything beyond half-filled journals would come of it.
This old blank book seems to have been forgotten, aside from some knitting notes from a Debbie Bliss workshop I attended back in Colorado and this exercise in which I was to list ten wishes in six categories of my life. Just reading through them was like suddenly having a time capsule in my hands, and I had that strange sensation in which one feels the past and the present coming together and meeting.
My lists had items like:
Wear good shoes.
Be well rested.
Go to the Met without the kids.
There were also a few like these:
Write things that make other people feel less alone.
Start conversations that make a difference in the world.
The last page was the most interesting of all.
Someday get a sense that my journey is heading somewhere.
And just like that, I could feel that place four years ago. The hiddenness, the unknowing, the stumbling through a thick fog with only these sonar-like intuitive pings to guide me.
Learn to live like it's not all up to me.
When I read this one I slammed back to the present, and I thought, That's what's happening. Right. Now.
I'm learning to live like it's not all up to me, to treat the limits of my capacities with gentleness instead of with scorn. I'm learning to ask for the kind of partnerships I dream of, and how to wait patiently until they find me. How to recognize them when they are given like sweet gifts of providence. I'm learning how to let go, to do less, to lay down and stare at the ceiling and to sit down and stare out the window. I'm learning how to listen, how to ask and how to receive. I'm learning gratitude for the earth that supports me and all the arms that happily link inside of mine.
And it is all I wished that it would be.
Saturday, July 2, 2011 at 7:57AM | Share Article 15 Comments | Email Article Print Article | Permalink | in dreaming
Reader Comments (15)
Love this post Jen - especially, "I'm learning to live like it's not all up to me, to treat the limits of my capacities with gentleness instead of with scorn. I'm learning to ask for the kind of partnerships I dream of, and how to wait patiently until they find me. How to recognize them when they are given like sweet gifts of providence."
It is amazing how when we slow down and let life happen with pure intent and being patient with ourselves that we move at a pace that all those wonderful partnerships can find us. Love your words this morning because you have said what I felt but haven't been able to put words to yet. Thank you!
Yes. Touchingly, achingly yes.
it never ocurred to me to live like it's not up to me.
this means alot.
I'm in the place of those wishes right now - and this post gives me hope that someday some of them will come true.
love love love this-- this morning, I sat and opened Finding Your Voice and began answering your questions all the while thrilling to the photos you chose-- of last October-- by the sea-- the hammock in your house on the dunes-- it shook me to the core in the best ways--- how much do I love traveling on this journey with you? How glad am I to be connected with you-- xoxo, E
Thank you for putting this into words. I'll be chewing on this one for a while.
yes! don't we all need these moments where we go back to learn that what we want is exactly what we end up getting. love this and love you! xoxo
gorgeous and hopeful. trusting that wishes and dreams alive in me will one day truly be born.
love this Jen... -from one whose arm is ever so happily and cozily linked with yours.
A big lump in my throat contemplating the woman who wrote those words 4 years ago and the woman I am so blessed to know right now. Thank you for sharing your journey, your stories and for reminding me of the importance of perspective and patience. I am remembering myself 4 years ago, very alone and overwhelmed - but now I see the soil was being prepared for seeds to be planted.
xo Lis
Sometimes certain posts of yours feel like gifts left for me when I most need them. Thank you. You do indeed write things that make others feel less alone.
Here's to the ongoing journey, in all its beauty and growth.
Wow. I so love this line and plea, "Learn to live like it's not all up to me." I want to hold on to that in my heart and soul. Thank you, Jen. xo
kindness, gentleness, patience: the stuff that dreams are made of.
i love how you get it.
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I love this post. It really hits home with me. I find myself revisting my old journals and finding things about myself, that have either come to fruition or remind me that I still have not done enough to get me where I need to be. It is a deep reminder that we are all and will never stop being, works in prgress. Thank you for sharing your journey.
http://every-daydreamer.blogspot.com/