Since our house fire in May, I’ve been thinking a lot about “unwanted journeys.” These aren’t the fun trips and adventures we avidly sign up for. And they are definitely not situations we would ever intentionally choose.
In addition to house fires, think: a cancer diagnosis, a death, a robbery, an accident, a pandemic. These are events that often happen suddenly, meaning we can’t prepare for them, which leads to a loss of personal control and a feeling of overwhelm.
And no matter how much you wish you could go back in time and exert some sway over the disastrous moment or event—to turn left instead of right, to book your flight on another day, to do all manner of things differently—you can’t. You can’t change what has happened.
These events force us down paths we didn’t want to travel and distract us from the other wanted journeys we were already on. Regular life grinds to a halt. You can’t just keep going as you did before. You have to stop and react and recover. The unwanted journey becomes an indelible part of your story. It ends up defining you, even when you didn’t want it to, and your whole life is impacted.
Someone you love dies in a car accident. A wildfire claims your house and all your belongings. A close friend commits suicide. You finally get pregnant after years of trying but the baby is stillborn.
These are all real stories. We’ve heard them. Some of us have lived them. What can we do when these events crash into, and over, our lives, like a hurricane or a tsunami?
In the end, and this is the part that is so very hard, we have to accept, and play, the cards we’ve been dealt. And then turn our minds to the areas where we have an element of agency or control. As someone who is in the midst of my own personal storm, I can tell you what is working for me, in the hope that it might help you too:
Be kind. Mostly to yourself, but also to the others who are going through the unwanted journey with you. Go slowly. Breathe deeply. Be gentle.
Focus on the good. There are always good and positive things happening even in the midst of something tragic. And there are also always good people who are helping. Like Mr. Rogers said, “Look for the helpers.”
Find practices that support you. It could be a simple prayer, pulling a tarot card, lighting a candle, or journalling for 10 minutes with a cup of soothing tea. Simple and consistent is the key.
Do something that brings you joy. It can be hard when you’re in the midst of a big event to make time for joy, but what a difference—in body and mind—joy creates.
Embrace the weird gifts. I received some wonderful messages of solidarity and empathy since the fire, but this one, from a friend who had recently experienced some intense losses, really stood out: “I have found that embracing the weird gifts that grief has to offer seems to help. So much un-asked for clarity about what truly matters. And so much love from unexpected places.”
Simplify. When there is far too much on your plate, it’s okay to push some things off to the side (especially if you didn’t even order, and don’t like, the meal you have been served!). Let go and go easy on yourself.
Make meaning. Find something to pour your hope into. For me, it’s a creative project that I’m excited about and that I hope will help others. This project has kept me grounded and has been a way to find meaning in a difficult time. (More on this in the coming months!)
If you are also in the midst of an unwanted journey, please know that you are not alone. And I would love to hear what is most helping you.
Summer Updates
I spent the last week of August at a women’s writing retreat at the gorgeous and historic Birchdale near Tusket in Southwest Nova Scotia.
It was exactly what I needed before Fall begins in earnest. Off-grid, no cell service, surrounded by huge trees, and sweet huckleberry bushes. I wrote, swam, kayaked, laughed, and enjoyed the company of open-hearted women. I saw the sun rise, heard the loon’s call, and revelled in how the intensity of the darkness brought out the light of the stars.
Until next year and a huge thank you to retreat organizers Sandra Phinney and Heather White, and to the stewards of this magical piece of land, Sarah Garton Stanley and Tracey Erin Smith.
