You know I don’t believe much in coincidences.
The story of my life has too many coincidental examples of connecting the dots.
So yesterday when I passed by an informal funeral procession on the interstate, I considered the symbolism in seeing death on the day before my birthday.
I had just treated myself to a birthday massage. Knots on knots on knots were released, and afterward, I decided to pop into the coffee shop down the street for an iced chai latte. It was my first time in the cute little cafe, but I don’t think I’ll go back. Not that it wasn’t a great tea, but the vibe was odd, and a bit unfriendly. These days, I make it a point to only seek out places that feel friendly.
Tea in hand, I also popped in a nearby shop to say hello to an old friend, one who I’ve not seen in a few years but who always seems to share magic when I see her. In fact, she did just that when she sang, “Have a magical birthday!” as I walked out the door.
These little details all stack up when I think about how, for right around two minutes on the drive home, I was sharing the road with a line of 20 or so cars and trucks that followed a hearse. It was such an informal procession that I didn’t even believe there was a casket until I neared the front of the line. And I’m not sure of the etiquette in this type of hodgepodge of well, regular people just like me, but maybe I wasn’t supposed to pass…
Part of me wanted to pass just to confirm that indeed this was a funeral procession of sorts. And part of me wanted to help send off the person being honored. When I finally reached the front of the line, I looked quickly over my shoulder and announced, “Ah, it looks like you were well-loved, whoever you are. I hope your life was filled with joy and with beautiful moments. May you rest well.”
It’s been a hard year, friends. I don’t say that lightly, as my entire adult life has been laced with serious challenges to overcome. And although it was a beautiful year in that I gave birth to my precious baby girl, it has been a year of sitting with uncertainty, grieving former stability, and trying to find my balance on shaky ground.
If you’re my Facebook friend, you know a little bit of the story. We left Minnesota last year, in early June, to move back to Tennessee. We left for many reasons, from work to weather to wonder, but the main reason was that I had a gut feeling, one that I simply couldn’t ignore. I knew that Minnesota wasn’t the right place to put down roots, and I felt that the purpose of being there had been served. So without much of a plan, we packed a U-Haul and drove 1000 miles across the country back to a familiar place (while I was 34 weeks pregnant — can’t leave that part out 😉).
To start afresh, we had to embrace “death” — loss of our life there in Minnesota, loss of routine and the predictability that ruled our lives. This is always true, as we must let go of *something* in order to have space for something new.
I didn’t have any expectations for what was ahead. I always just said we’d be in Tennessee for a year or so while we figured it out. And then, life kept throwing us strange little offers that never quite fully materialized. A job in VA, a job in FL, a job in WA — even a job in Las Vegas, lol. In other words, I’ve spent far too much time researching the cost of living in random pockets of the country this year to still be in Tennessee!
And truthfully, the fear of the unknown has nearly swallowed me this year. Even though I love a good adventure — the unknown looks different when there are two little humans who rely on you to figure shit out. The disappointment, feelings of failure, questioning my intuition, working twice as hard to have half as much as what we did in our more financially comfortable life in Minnesota — it’s been tough.
But passing death yesterday served as a beautiful reminder of life’s natural cycles. We’re born, we live, we die. It gets a little fuzzy after that based on your beliefs, but for me personally, I don’t believe in the finality of death. I believe it’s simply a transition, a flow of sorts into the next chapter.
I briefly wondered what that next chapter looked like for the person I passed by yesterday. I wondered if they felt complete when they left, or if there were words left unsaid, deeds left undone, and life left unlived.
And I thought about how even though this past year hasn’t fully shaken out into a new beginning, the death of our old life was so necessary.
We let go of our stability so that we could have creativity. We let go of our routines so we could cherish time with sweet family. And we let go of certainty so that life could challenge us to play stronger, to aim higher, to dream bigger. In other words, we don’t want to leave any of life unlived.
And most importantly of all, we surrendered to a voice that asked us to do something really hard, and to trust in the beauty of new beginnings.
So perhaps, at this time next year, I’ll share the story of how rebirth became the theme of my 33rd year.
Until then, I’ll do my best to continue sitting with the holiness of death, striving to love well, be kind, and experience joy among the unknown.