Sun Slivers

Just when I thought I would be in the shade for the rest of the evening, a perfect sliver of sunshine found its way through the buildings behind right before sunset. I was lying on my back, eyes closed, at the end of a free evening yoga class on the bluff overlooking the ocean. I could feel the gentle kiss of the sunlight on my skin and without prompting, I subtly smiled. It was unexpected, that sunshine, and when I finally sat up and looked around I realized that I was one of only a few basking in the last rays since the slice of light was very limited to a small section of the park.

I almost didn’t go to yoga. I hadn’t done it in months and I knew I was going to be late. I didn’t realize how late until I was already riding my bike furiously down the bike path and approaching the final stretch, a hill that will make you sweat, cry, and breathless. But I committed, so I went. 

Finding myself in the last minutes of class drenched in summer light, I felt grateful.

I feel grateful. 

As we’re in the middle of the first heat wave of the year in Southern California (and a heat wave across the whole country), I can say with absolute confidence that it is officially summer. Yes, I know summer solstice is June 21. But you wouldn’t know that I lived in the golden state until the past couple of weeks had you been here at any point in 2023. To by PNW friends, the ongoing gray hits different when you’re accustomed to seeing the sunshine more often than not. 

There was gray. 

There was torrential rain and flooding.

There was almost literally freezing cold nights. 

There was historic snowfall (not in Long Beach, but in California, and that’s pretty significant to note).

And that’s just in the weather. No part of 2023 is what I would’ve anticipated on a personal level. 

There was conflict.

There was loss.

There was a reminder of loss.

There was a lack of emotions.

There was a rewiring of the brain leading to a flooding of emotions.

There was rejection after rejection after rejection in many areas of life.

There was unsettledness and uncertainty and confusion and sadness and fear.

Quite simply, I’ve been moving through mud.

Please don’t feel bad for me. I’ve felt bad enough myself that I don’t need to bring anyone else into it (though hugs and love and laughter are always welcome as we move through the process).

And as life always is, it hasn’t only been hard things. There have been lots of wonderful things too. It’s just that it’s felt like more hard things.

Hard things, yes. But hard things met with a deeper knowing that it can’t stay that way. A knowing that something has to change.

It has to. Everything changes. That’s the only constant.

Have you ever walked through mud? Talk about exhausting. Every step is met with resistance. Every step requires a full mind and body commitment that the foot will in fact inch forward. At some point it doesn’t even matter what’s waiting on the other side because every ounce of energy is focused on willing the tiniest bit of progress through the sludge.

Last time I wrote, about a million years ago, I mentioned that I moved into my own place. Pretty amazing really, but…

I still don’t have a table to sit and eat at. 

I still haven’t hung anything on the walls (and I have just about 12 hours from writing this to make good on homework with my therapist to get something hung up before seeing her again).

I still haven’t committed to putting my outdoor furniture outside for fear that it will get dirty. Outdoor furniture. Outdoor furniture inside my place because it feels like too much commitment to put it where it belongs and allow myself to completely settle in.

What if it all gets taken away unexpectedly again? I don’t want to get attached. It’s too painful.

Ooooof. That hurts because that is real. Real real.

Alas, moving through mud. Finding myself in the shade of the tall buildings surrounding me.

But it’s not forever. It’s just for now.

That silver of sunshine hit me just when I least expected. I couldn’t have planned to sit in a more perfect spot to soak it all in before it dropped below the horizon. It gave itself to me as a gift just when I thought I’d be in the shade the rest of the day. Just when I least expected.

Friends, I hope this summer you’re finding yourselves light-footed and fancy free, prancing in meadows, dancing under the stars. 

But if you’re not and you too feel like you’re in a mud sludge journey, take a deep breath. Trust that there is something for you in this. Be here now and while it might take everything within yourself to muster the slightest movement, that movement is change. 

And guess what? I believe that there is a sliver of sunshine about to surprise you just when you least expect it. 

Carry on, dear ones, and be open to the gifts, whenever and however they show up.