change

I love to travel, I really do. Our recent month-long trip to the U.K. was extraordinary. We met warm, friendly people everywhere we went. The diverse geography of Scotland and Wales surprised us, and we struck a balance between rest and activity.

Meanwhile, now we’re home, returning to routine. Smells of beets and carrots roasting in the oven, and kitchari on the stove, fill the house. Apples are picked and applesauce made. I’ve aggressively pruned my lavender since I now understand it’s nearly impossible to kill it. I’ve installed mulch under the fruit trees and planted cover crop to provide a protective blanket of green to bare soil.

Henry and I both feel changed by the trip. Magic is afoot, though its definition eludes us at the moment. The last time a trip impacted us this much, we moved cross-country.

While I continue to process its meaning, though, I have noticed a shift in my writing practice. I have returned to my novel manuscript, slowing the pace to consider individual sentences or to ponder word choice. At the end of each day I don’t have a lot of pages under my belt, but the work is stronger and more detailed. I am more protective of my writing time. I feel quieter and more creative. I feel more determined.

Other changes are showing themselves bit by bit. I have “unfollowed” Facebook friends who over-post or dwell on the unpleasant. I have unplugged from all Facebook games. I visit Facebook less often.

Six days ago, I quit drinking Diet Coke. This addiction, in my opinion, has affected my physical and emotional health, so it has to go. Instead, I’m drinking tea. For the afternoon, when I need a bit of fizz, I combine a homemade root beer tea with a splash of club soda. I’ve failed several times in my attempts to abstain, but I am ready to try again — and hopeful I have a better strategy, which I’ll write about in more detail at another time.

I’ve returned to healthful eating habits, and I’m exercising daily. Travel is tough on the waistline!

Who knows what happened to cause so many shifts? Maybe the ghosts of the Bronte sisters are urging me on. They knew how short and precious life can be. Maybe I’m just refreshed from the long break, especially since we could ignore our legal woes for a month. Maybe genealogy provides a longer lens that changes my worldview. Or maybe Stonehenge worked some goo-bi-di-goo on me. I don’t know.

In short, I am returning to the routine and activities that nourish me and bring me both health and happiness. Much as we love travel, it’s good to come home.

The View from Our Deck -- Truly, There is No Place Like Home. — The View from Our Deck — Truly, There is No Place Like Home.

All this meditating, resting, and breathing has gotten me to thinking about things…and this, in short, is why we often don’t slow down! When we get quiet, we start telling ourselves the pesky truth, and sometimes that means making changes. Big changes.

Recently, as I think I mentioned, hubby and I started talking about where we might want to live. I’ve lived in Houston for 30 years, and he’s been here even longer, so these thoughts cause us to sit up straight and perk up our ears. Sometimes he backpedals — “Maybe we could just leave Houston during the summer” — but then we realize that a) summer is lasting longer and longer here, and b) the ties that held us here are gone. Joe and Sarah, my stepkids, don’t live here anymore. Henry’s folks are gone. He still has a sister here, but we don’t see her that often, either. Plus, we do have the freedom to travel and visit.

“Why would you want to stay?” I ask. It’s a fair question. The answer could be, “We like the house and the neighborhood. We have our regular restaurants that we enjoy. Rice University is nearby, and they have a lot of fun things to do.” The real answer, though, is “inertia.” That doesn’t sound like a good reason to me!

Problem is, life is unpredictable. Why spend it in a place that no longer works? Sure, we have both loved Houston, but more and more we gravitate toward mountains. And Henry likes the water, though I can take it or leave it. We have traveled enough to discover that we don’t want to live anymore in a flat terrain where an evening stroll to the wine bar makes us sweaty and stinky.

We have scheduled a trip to Washington State in December. First, it’s a trip to celebrate my birthday. Second, we want to see the area in a less-attractive time to see if we would still like it. It will be colder, rainier, and darker. We picked Port Townsend because the town seems to fill the bill for what we’re looking for: the right terrain, an emphasis on local and organic food, and a plethora of artists and writers to hang out with.

Since we’re “interviewing” Port Townsend, I want to meet as many people as possible. It’s a small town, so it’s important to find people that we wouldn’t mind hanging around. I Googled the local yoga studios to see if anything was going on. Turns out that one of my favorite yoga teachers, Angela Farmer, is doing a workshop the weekend of my birthday. She runs many of her trainings in Greece, but is visiting little ol’ Port Townsend on the first weekend that I’ll be there.

Here I am, on the cusp of menopause, on the eve of a new year of my life, and in the process of making a big decision, now with the opportunity to work with someone who has a way of pulling the deepest truths out of her students. And what better way to get to know some of the locals than to spend time in such an intimate environment?

It was a goosebump moment. You know them, right? I used to always affirm that “I am always in the right place at the right time, successfully engaged in the right activity.” But in a goosebump moment, I really BELIEVE it.

Goosebump moments can remind us that maybe something else is at work in our lives besides our mundane, mental existence. I am giddy. I am scared. Like many women, I have feared my own power for too long, so I hesitate. I remind myself of all the logical reasons not to do the workshop. Then, I stop, I breathe — and I write the check. I want to honor all the goosebump moments of my life and to jump in full-out. Maybe all that pesky stillness is not only opening me to change, but giving me the courage to go through with it.