10.10.10

10.10.10 has numerological significance to the universe, to me. October 10, 2010 has a distinctive number sequence. I woke this morning to read a numerologist account of the day’s significance. The number 10 is represented three times, and only three different digits appear: the 0, the 1 and the 2. There are also noteworthy “coincidences” among the hidden numbers. For example, the 0 and the 2 dominate what numerologists refer to as Challenges — numbers whose presence denotes obstacles and difficulties we have to overcome in order to grow and move forward. These past months I have wondered if I have just been adrift. To an extent, I have been floating downstream in my existence. Although, this is a vast improvement to the years I have struggled paddling upstream trying to control my circumstances to no avail. I kept managing the challenges, but without noticeable growth or forward movement.

My fiftieth year came along with three more. I have been postmenopausal for at least that many. My forties came and went and I survived a tumultuous, drama-filled relationship to uncover how far I was capable of losing my soul. When I could finally trust myself again, I ventured out to discover what love had in store for me and I hit the pavement, literally. I found myself flying across the country to bring home my son who was in the grips of addiction. My first grandchild arrived in the crux of drama and feelings of trepidation. At the height of exhaustion and frustration, I quit my job–retired. I think I could cash in and add to my pension if I received a five spot for every time I was told I am too young to be retired.

It is unseasonably warm this tenth day of October in northern Minnesota. I have been watching ships ease out into Lake Superior from the safety of the harbor while soaking up final rays of the sun as it drenches where I lay in the hammock. I take pride now in the amount of time I give myself to do nothing but just be. It creeps into my awareness that I have not honored the accomplishment of arriving or maybe it’s more like becoming. It isn’t so much about the chronological phases in my life, rather a shedding of an old skin or maybe I am molting. I know I have been on a journey of becoming new. The newness is being defined in each moment of each day as it unfolds. I have not been able to find the word for myself. I have been separated from the word by some internal process that has almost been too subtle to realize. It feels like I drifted through this journey unconscious. It is now almost dream like–recovering from a catastrophic accident, turning 50, moving away from being a fertile female, starting a new marriage, Halyn’s birth, my son’s recovery, ending a career. And said career was most definitely a life’s purpose. Being a teacher has always been who I am while interwoven with parenthood. And now–my purpose?

I am and will be eternally grateful for being able to wake up every morning and never go to just a job. My life has always been filled with meaning and direction. The tasks of teaching academic content, being counsel and giving sage advice on life’s perplexities, watching my student’s move out to make their marks on the world along with raising two extraordinary human beings have filled my life and my world. As I look back on it all, I am grateful that I could hear the inner wisdom whispering, “It is time to move on.” I could no longer be a sage within the box in which I had found myself confined. I was no longer able to find me in this small space with so little oxygen. There was something new underfoot. The earth rumbled. I was losing my balance. I was running out of breath.

There is much significance to the gift of time I have been given. I don’t think I have been present to this gift, until now. I don’t know if I truly understand its richness–yet. Now there are two more grandbabies. There is no doubt this gift allows me to be in this new role. A role I will need to learn how to be. I never thought of myself as anyone’s grandmother, not this soon. I must have had this role reserved up on a shelf for a much later time in my life. I am ever grateful for being present for their births, not just physically present, but emotionally in the here and now. I am like the autumnal season. The fall brings time to slow and retire and burst forth again with spring. I am blessed and fortunate enough to have at it again. I know I have it in me to hear what whispers to my soul.

Home base has been this house for twenty-four years. I am occupying the space for the first time. I have never had the fortune and the pleasure of inhabiting the entire house. I always rented out the first floor apartment. The first floor now is a studio where I can play with images and words. Even now as we share our space and our views with guests, I am able to play with the space and learn how to be in it. I have always been running somewhere, looking for something, teetering on the edge of the next big something. Remarkably, I have returned here to this house on the hill overlooking the greatest of lakes. In all I have been seeking, my final destination is finding balance. I lay in the hammock breathing in the scents of burning leaves. I watch the seagull being held by the breeze. The light is low and diffused in a warmth I have not ever experienced. In all these years, I have never spent hours reveling in October’s light on my own deck. The sun dips below the roof next door and I decide to start a fire on the patio that I built with my own hands this summer. I pour a glass of wine and I grab the computer to feel the flow of characters on the screen. I am hoping the physical act of striking the keys will unscramble these thoughts about arriving in my fifties, being early retired, becoming a grandmother all the while holding seeds of creativity waiting to be planted. It all happened without barely a notice.