Thrown out of the nest

and other reflections

Human Stuff is a free weekly-ish newsletter. Please feel free to share parts of this newsletter that connect with you on social media or send to someone you love. If you enjoy and benefit from my work, I invite you to become a paid subscriber. This is a reader-supported offering and I’m so grateful for your presence here.

---

A song I’m loving:

A quiet morning cabin moment, 35mm film

I have just a few things to share today —

1. I’ve been looking toward what enhances my attention and I’ve noticed it rarely has anything to do with obsessing about healing, or even thinking about myself much at all. It almost always has more to do with really being with the people I’m around — really being in the place I’m in — really doing the task I’m doing, whether it’s the dishes or working on my new book project or taking photographs or paying bills or picking up the absolutely wild mess my daughter somehow makes in five mere minutes. And I think this is why I’ve been less and less interested in consuming content about healing or growth or advice about living these days… I’m only interested in fully being in the life I currently have, in the body I’m currently in, with the imperfections and challenges I currently face, staying curious about what I want to get to know more deeply, trusting the Being Here is what will allow me to be with what comes when life eventually ebbs and shifts.

   I don’t need to over-focus on “healing” anymore. I don’t need to constantly think about where I’m at in my evolution. I don’t need to be hyper-aware of every little thing as a so-called awareness practice. I can rest into the place I’m in and let that be enough. I can rest into the version of myself that’s here now and let that be enough. I can soften into the fact that I don’t need to have a tight grip upon myself in order to trust I’ll grow and change when I’m ready to — I don’t need to read another perfect list about how to put myself first — I don’t need to consume healing anymore. There’s much more room now for reading novels instead of self-help, and taking photographs instead of creating daily content in Canva, and practicing the art of orienting my attention toward the things I want more of instead of toward all the things I could obsess about improving. All this to say, maybe putting our attention on the things that bring us more alive instead of always keeping it on healing and growth is what allows for the forward movement we’re looking for, in ways that feel more free.

A quiet greenhouse scene, 35mm film

2. Shedding an over-identification with the roles I’ve been in that required me to obsess about healing (therapist, helper, healer, guide, Wise Person, constant content creator) in order to more deeply look at what I actually want to be doing with my time and energy (sharing as a full person, taking more photos, writing a memoir, crafting meaningful offerings, learning, not creating content for Instagram anymore, making things that feel fun and alive and connected to make, writing things that push me to look more deeply at myself and the world) has shaken up my sense of self in big ways over the past year. But it’s mostly allowed me to remember that choosing to do the things we long to do is always worth the natural consequences of doing so. A dropping-off audience; less popularity; less wide appeal; these are natural consequences of no longer trying to be for everybody. There will be natural consequences for choosing the things we’re called to — some easier to face than others, but all seemingly just part of the process of prioritizing what matters to us more than what we think we’re supposed to be doing.

The road home, 35mm film

3. “To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest. To live fully is to be always in no-man's-land, to experience each moment as completely new and fresh. To live is to be willing to die over and over again.” Pema Chödrön said this and it is what I’ve been taking to heart most these days — the relief of trusting we’ll never arrive anywhere feels much more expansive than the hope of making it to an imaginary Other Side. The relief of being able to meet each moment with fresh eyes when I remember to feels much greater than the idea of mastering any of this. The relief of starting over, again and again, feels much greater than the belief I’m supposed to have it all figured out. The relief of letting stale versions of myself die and not knowing who’s on the other side is much greater than the perceived comfort of holding in what wants to burst forth. May we remember being thrown out of the nest continually isn’t a sign of not doing enough, but a sign of aliveness. May we find something new each time we’re thrown out of the nest.

No one in sight on Highway 128, 35mm film

4. Last night, I went on a solo drive out to the coast to take some photographs. There was an old red car in a lot, covered up with a yellow sheet, weeds growing through the tires, just sitting there. I’ve been fascinated with scenes like this since I started taking photos as a teenager — scenes showing something forgotten, something overlooked, something that was once a part of a life now left to rot, to fade, to wither away. I must have stared at this car for 20 minutes, wondering who drove it and why it was siting there, the conversations had in it, the way the seats feel in heat, what kind of music blared through the speakers. And I wondered if anyone might bring it back to life — start it up and take it back out on the road, letting it guide them to a new place, a new view. I thought about what happens when we stop assuming what’s been long left stagnant doesn’t have any life in it anymore. I thought about what happens when we see objects, or parts of ourselves, as capable of renewal, of a second wind, of worth receiving some TLC for the sake of returning. I thought about the places this car could go given the right conditions, the right care. I thought about the places we could go given the right conditions, the right care. Maybe nothing is too far gone.

The red car on Bodega Ave.

Thanks for being here, as always.

△ These words I return to often from the one and only Ocean Vuong:

△ Just Go from

Stephanie Danler

— a gorgeous invitation

△ 1000 Words of Summer starts soon!

△ Noticing the felt difference between pressure and genuine desire

△ The Myth of the Linear Life — with

Elise Loehnen

on Pulling the Thread

△ The power of revision

△ Currently reading, and loving, Pageboy

△ “It is not difficult to make a work of art; the difficulty lies in being in the right state to do it.”

△ This reminder, currently on my computer —

Write the thing you want to write. The thing inside you, stirring.

With care,
Lisa