When the Storm Rolls In ...

I woke up early this morning, craving solitude and sunlight. I packed a chair, a hot cup of tea, my laptop, and headed to one of my favorite spots by the water. I was ready for a few sacred hours of writing and regrouping. But as soon as I settled in, the clouds rolled in and with them came thunder, lightning, and a downpour that soaked the stillness right out of the moment.

Just like that, my peaceful window of inspiration closed. The view was gone. The space I carved out was lost to the storm. So I did what many of us do when life veers off course: I went shopping. First to Costco and then to the grocery store. I wasn’t in the mood, but I had a list and checking things off felt like a way to reclaim some sort of control.

I came home to a stack of soggy boxes from Amazon and Ikea  that were waiting for me under the overhang near the garage. The boxes contained a bunch of RV necessities I had ordered a couple of days ago but wasn't really excited about unpacking. I kept going. I stayed busy when what I really needed was stillness. Even now, just typing the words ‘take a nap’ stirs something in me. I don't take naps. In my brain, naps aren't productive. At least not up until now! Because right now, I would really like to call it a day, crawl into bed and fall asleep to the sound of rain on the roof.

This is the part of the journey we don’t always talk about; the part where, even in the midst of profound soul growth, you still have to go to the grocery store. You still have to put the groceries away. You still have to deal with soggy corrugated cardboard box deliveries that were left out in the rain. And you still have to deal with whatever life puts on your path.

Some days I feel guilty for craving freedom so deeply. I can almost hear my Mom utter the word "selfish". But I push those words out of my head. I broke that cycle a long time ago and reframed the word "selfish" to "self-care". I'm actually quite good at it when I consciously practice it. Self-care is like my oxygen.

In the interest of self-care and on a whim, I booked a hotel room for near my RV so I could spend time cleaning it, getting it set up. enjoying a nice dinner, a feel good movie and a good night's sleep. It's an hour from where I am currently staying. Unfortunately, when I went to check into the hotel, I found out I had made a mistake and booked the room for next week. Unfortunately, the hotel was completely booked. I felt a storm rising up within me. I was tired, hungry and frustrated. I had a plan, but life intervened. I took a deep breath, regained my composure, and headed to the restaurant rolling my overnight bag behind me. I ordered dinner and a glass of wine. Just what I needed. 

As I drove the hour back home, ideas for a better storage option flooded into my head. Options I hadn't considered up until that moment. Bring it to a campground close to where I am staying so I can hook up to water and electricity and do what needs to be done. Ask my friend, a fully disabled veteran, who has been helping me with the RV, if she gets discounts on camping in a state park. Check into local storage options for about the same price as gas for the back and forth trips to the "free storage" offered by the dealer I bought the RV from.

As I drove, I turned on the voice recorder on my phone to capture the ideas that were flooding through my head. 

The next day, I got campsite at a discounted rate for the maximum stay of 14 days for $11/night. I got a storage space about 2 miles from the campground with availability and a "Flash Sale Special" of just $29/month for the first month, which will cover me until I head out on my first big trip in mid-July. 

I moved through (and breathed through) the whole experience with a keen awareness of my emotions. As I reflect back, my reinvention experience seems to be a long, dramatic, and necessary rebirth. It's not a Hollywood moment. It’s a slow emergence. A quiet unfoldment. An intentional reclamation of space, choice, and breath.

So if you’re also in a space like I am and your energy and your emotions comes in waves, here’s a gentle reminder:

You’re not lost. You’re in process. The process of becoming.

It’s okay if your “next chapter” includes Costco runs, mundane tasks, thunderstorms, lightening bolts, mistakes, and long naps. 

You don’t need to explain it or even understand it. You don’t need to know the ending. You just need to keep showing up ... tired, tender, honest ... and trust that every step is part of becoming more you.

This is how we become. One storm, one stumble, one breath at a time.

Want a little more clarity, even in the fog?
Download my What Would Your Life Be Like If ... 12-Question Reflection Journal here. It's perfectly designed for these exact moments when life is unfolding, but not yet clearly defined.

And if any of this resonated, leave a comment or send me a note. I’d love to hear where you are in your becoming.

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