Ahead of me and also behind me lies work. Effort. Labor of my heart, soul, body, and mind.
There have been and will be milestones. Landmarks of accomplishments e.g. the first week without an anxiety attack. The first meal without getting sick. Telling my boss I am leaving at the end of the school year. Leaving at the end of the school year. The first fruit tree planted on the land. The first sale from the garden. Installing a composting toilet. The first boundary I set + honored. Climbing into a U-Haul and fumbling the keys into the ignition. The first grocery trip for one. Unpacking the last box.
Many a big-girl moment has come and gone, often left uncelebrated. Perhaps noted much later with an appreciative and contemplative “hmm”. A smidge of awe, and a little self-admiration.
In the months + years to come, I will plant my first crop. I’ll build my first structure. Raise + butcher my first critter. I’ll operate a backhoe. Learn to use a chainsaw. Learn to say backhoe without giggling. Harvest a tree with the aforementioned chainsaw. Build my house. Publish my book. Host a retreat. Book out the rental property for an entire season. Finally purchase the freeze-drier I’ve been eyeing.
Big moments and micro moments. All cause for serious celebration.
My life has changed pretty dramatically in the past year, and I have too. I’ve not taken pause to wallow in my successes and joys. But I used to. I’d go out to eat with friends. Throw a party and have some drinks. Buy myself a cute lil something. Post on facebook.
Now, I don’t drink. I find myself in a time and space of solitude, minimalism, and grounding. When I try on my previous celebratory outfits, they all seem to have shrunk in the wash. They don’t fit me anymore. Maybe they’ve shrunk or I’ve grown.
Alcohol hurts my tummy. Going out to eat hurts my tummy. I’ve transplanted myself away from my friends and loved ones. I’m realizing I don’t need (or want, for that matter) very many things.
And I’m left kind of bone dry when it comes to celebrating. It’s got me looking deeply within. To be perfectly honest, I’m at a loss.
What a vulnerable pondering. And also a lonely realization.
I don’t know what lights my soul on fire. I don’t know what warms my insides and tickles my fancy. I don’t know me.
How I’ve come so far with so little to show for it. Little pause to celebrate, really celebrate. I mean wallow in that joy and let it spread all over like a really wonderful disease. I’ve taken those big moments and accomplishments for granted. It feels like survival–on to the next thing. Keep working, grinding, pushing. No time to rest and god forbid relax.
In the hustle and hurry, I lose sight of myself, my soul. My deep parts. I want to slow. Be fully relaxed and present. Sipping and savoring. Blissfully. With gratitude.
Now, I’ve come so far. So far. But as I learn to meet myself in this new way. I want to explore what it truly means for me to celebrate. I release the superficial, perhaps distracting, maybe intoxicating, often temporary ways of celebration from my past. And I welcome vulnerability and intimacy with myself. To deeply know and honor my wants and needs.
The whole while writing this, I think of a hymn, Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing. It goes, “Here I raise my Ebenezer, hither by thy help I’ve come” Eben-Ezer (yes, like the Scrooge) means rock of hope. From what I understand, it’s a stone or landmark set in place to celebrate, recognize, honor Divine presence and influence that has made this success or progress possible. Then any time you see that big ol’ rock, you take pause with pride and gratitude to reflect and celebrate. It’s giving Shrek. “I like that boulder. That is a NICE boulder.”
“and I hope by thy good measure safely to arrive at home.” Goodness begets goodness. Gratitude yields more gratitude. Marking, celebrating, honoring gives us hope, too. In those deep dark moments when everything feels bleak and desperate, we can look back with both confidence and gratitude. I know I’m going to be all right. I have proof, evidence. I have my Ebenezer, my rock of hope.
Now, I get to explore and experiment and try on what feels right for me–what feels celebratory.
Because these moments are worth celebrating. And I’m worth celebrating. I’m worth being deeply known, seen, and loved. I can do that for myself. Because I’m worth it.