My new life starts tomorrow (!)

It's finally here! 

Tomorrow, I get on an airplane (well, actually two airplanes) and travel to my new home on Vancouver Island. Weeks, months and years of plotting, scheming, dreaming and preparation culminate in tomorrow's transition from "old life" to "new life."

Our family will live under one roof again! We can unpack our boxes and crates and suitcases! I can let go of the logistical lists in my brain -- What's packed where? What still needs to be sold/given away? What needs to be shipped when and by what method? What keys need to be returned? Accounts closed? Thank-yous delivered? Good-byes said? Hugs hugged? How will we fit all these end-of-the-school-year items in our suitcases? -- and maybe relax for a day, or thirty, or a hundred-and-sixty-three.

This dream of moving to BC started with Marc's first motorcycle trip out there, and grew during our first family vacation to Nelson. The climate, the lushness, the opportunities to be outdoors without our faces hurting or being bitten by a bazillion bugs, the slow and gentle pace of life, the lack of harshness, of mere survival through several months of the year...it all called to us.

The whole drive home from the Kootenays that summer, we planned how we could move...what would need to sell/unload/downsize, what kind of work we could do, where Chloe would go to school...and by the time we got home to the farm two days later, practicalities set in and we stayed put. We had good jobs. We just built our forever farm house. Our families are close by. Our friends and doctors and vet and massage therapists and hair stylists and favourite restaurants are here. We have a good life. 

Then the next summer, it started again. And the next. Until we decided this was really a thing we wanted to do. So, Marc aggressively pursued employment, turned down a few offers that didn't quite get us where we wanted to be, until the perfect opportunity landed in his lap. He moved and started his new gig mid-September, while Chloe, Morris and I listed the house and farm for sale, purged the stuff, kept the house clean for showings and potential showings, and carried on with school and work and normal life stuff.

Then the farm sold (huzzah!) and things got real. Marc and our awesome, patient, knowledgeable realtor looked at many, many houses in Victoria, and once the cash cleared from the sale, we started putting in offers. We were disappointed when our "aggressive" offer on a great place in a great neighbourhood was outbid. That house went for $101,500 over asking. Yikes. Then, a place that worked for us appeared. Marc looked at it and Facetimed me through it. Then he drove back to the farm to help pack the house up. Through the magic of the interwebs and our awesome, patient, knowledgeable realtor, we put in an offer and had the winning bid. Huzzah again! 

I gave notice at my corporate gig. We had a big house-cooling party. We packed. We purged. We sold. We shipped. Morris and Marc returned to the Island. Chloe and I and four suitcases moved in with family to finish out the school year.

And that brings us to today. Last day of school. Last (full) day of Saskatchewan. It's fitting our move comes on a full moon, the Strawberry Moon. Full moons are times of release and cleansing; times of acknowledging what was with gratitude and then letting go to make way for the new; times of completion and creative closure. 

And so I reflect on my many years living on the Prairies, and how they've made me who I am.

Wide open spaces and endless skies ripe with possibility informed my sense of wonder, of I-can-do-and-be-anything-ness.

The strength of community coming together in times of sorrow, struggle and celebration is a given -- I know I will be caught if I fall or falter, and will create the community I need.

Practicality, hard work and perseverance engrained traits that will serve me well in figuring out a new city and province and what's next.

Connection to and respect for the land and the weather and all nature has to offer will provide me a lovely contrast for learning a new topography and climate and appreciation for the differences. 

This will always be the place I am from. It will remain my definition of home. Its beauty will fill my memories. Its people, MY people, will continue to fill my heart. I hope to be a proud and honourable representative of this place and people in my new chosen community and province. 

And I promise to visit. But probably not during winter. I don't like it when my face hurts. 

Boundaries and Spaciousness

Winter is my least favourite time of year. I feel my shoulders rise, my face tighten and the rest of my body clench in preparation for the harshest and most unforgiving Saskatchewan season. Each fall, I mentally and physically prepare for the worst -- minus 40 degree Celsius temperatures; strong northerly winds that freeze your skin in seconds; cars that don't start with windows that won't defrost; drifts and ridges of snow and ice that make driving treacherous; and everything takes longer, more effort and requires an emergency kit at the ready, just in case.

It means getting up in the dark, earlier than normal, just to get the kid to school and myself to work on time. And hoping the heating system and sewer system and generator will all keep working on the very coldest days so I don't have to call the neighbours to come out of their warm houses to troubleshoot. It means watching the weather throughout the day to determine if I need to leave work early to make it through a snowstorm to the sitter's before closing. It means going to work and leaving work in the dark. And then repeat, day after day after long, well actually short, winter day.

And this year, I'm facing it all without a back-up -- no extra vehicle in case mine doesn't start; no extra parent in case I'm running late; no one else to clear the yard and deck and steps of snow, to grab groceries on the way home from the too-peopley places, to help with homework, to remember the December birthdays on top of the holiday festivities, to help choose the Christmas concert outfit, to do the hair, to watch and applaud in the audience, to calm and soothe an over-excited six-and-three-quarters-year-old child's mind well past her bedtime on a school night.

I know that there are lone parents all over the world who juggle the demands of parenting, often of multiple kids, and work, family, friends and all kinds of other stuff all the time. And, I know this living arrangement is our conscious choice, and that it may take many more months until we are reunited permanently. I am not complaining. I am stating the fact that it is hard. Especially during winter in Saskatchewan (even though this one has been pretty easy so far). And I am acknowledging that I wasn't handling it all very effectively or gracefully.

I really haven't been myself these last couple of months.

I needed to make some changes to make it more manageable and get back to being me. 

I knew something needed to change about a month ago -- I was short with my kid, short with my colleagues, disconnected from my spouse and near tears almost all the time. I felt completely overwhelmed and like I was failing at everything in my life -- with my team at work, on the big project at work, as a parent, as a partner, and as a coach -- I sure wasn't feeling very resilient or positive or able to support others in their own journeys of self-realization. I felt like a hypocrite. I had lost touch with nature -- I can't remember the last time I spent any time outside or took the dog for a walk. And I felt like I didn't have any friends, outside of work and Facebook. (Not that I don't LOVE my co-workers! I so do!) I remember the moment my parents offered to have C spend the night at their place on an upcoming Friday, and I could go out with adults for an evening. I couldn't think of anyone to make plans with. Who were my friends? It had been so long since I'd gotten together with people in a social setting, I couldn't remember who to contact. Or maybe more importantly, who I could be un-peppy, maybe a bit snarky, and mildly lethargic around. Cue the self pity.

I got the confirmation (aka slap upside the head) I needed while attending two days of mental health first aid training through my organization. I checked all the boxes for depression and anxiety, both in full bloom. I had suspected as much, based on my history with these two diseases, but I don't think I wanted to admit it.

I was too busy to be sick. 

But I knew too much was at stake to avoid the truth, and I'm a vocal advocate for mental health awareness, so I figured I needed to walk the talk. 

So I named my depression and anxiety and asked for help. 

I have super-supportive and understanding managers at work, so I created some strong work boundaries with their help. I switched from working full-time leading a branch AND managing a huge organizational change project AND coaching clients in and outside of work, to cutting back to three days a week, and when possible,  at my manager's insistence, working one of them from home, and removing myself from the big project.

After two weeks, my shoulders have STARTED to drop slightly. I still have multiple moments of panic throughout the day -- What am I forgetting? Where am I supposed to be? Where's the kid? What time is it? Where's the dog? What deadline must I meet? Have I missed it? Do we need milk? Is it time to FaceTime C's dad? WHO ELSE NEEDS SOMETHING FROM ME??? -- and add to that the busy-ness of this time of year (and we don't even make a big deal out of it) -- but I'm getting better at breathing through those moments and reminding myself that I have space and time.

My main focus right now is on being a present parent. I'm trying to keep the holiday magic alive for C -- she's in love with holiday movies right now, and making gifts for people. I'm trying to help her plan her seventh birthday party -- one here, one in BC. And manage her expectations about what Santa will or will not bring her. And feed her and bathe her and make sure she hasn't outgrown all her pants and get her homework done and make sure she's at the appropriate reading level. And work through her emotions with all the changes going on in our lives, and the impact living apart from her dad has on her. I'm trying to keep her healthy and happy and learning and curious and believing in magic.

Honestly, I'm just trying to keep it all together. 

I'm trying to make healthy choices to support movement out of depression. Some days I'm successful, and others I give myself permission to just be however I am. Some days only the smallest of actions are celebrated -- getting dressed, drinking water, eating something healthy, getting C to the sitter's on time to get to school. I'm trying to let the judgement this disease screams inside my head go, or to at least quiet it. To treat myself gently, kindly. And some days, binge-watching Outlander feels like the right choice. Until it isn't. And then I try something else. With forgiveness and compassion.

I'm trying to slow down. Sit with, be with, be present. Breathe. Quiet my mind. Nourish my body. Keep things simple. Seek what I need to feel strong and healthy and resilient again. Give myself the space and time to listen and hear. Take guidance from the upcoming solstice, the shortest day of the year, and hope for light after the longest night. And not expect too much of myself.

That one's the hardest for me. 

As a coach, it's easy to fall into believing that you should have your poop in a group all the time. I'm here to tell you that's not realistic. Coaches are people too -- yes, people with good understanding of self, access to many resources, and connection to a community of caring, compassionate people. AND we don't always have it together (whatever that means)!

It is my hope by sharing my real self, modelling vulnerability and honesty, exposing my challenges and imperfections, you will be inspired to be your true self, and to ask for help, should you need it.  

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If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health challenges this time of year, there is help. 211 Saskatchewan is a one-stop-shop for community resources across Saskatchewan including crisis support lines. 

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In love and light,

Jilly

Living in limboland

The winds of change are blowing across southern Saskatchewan and knocking all the dehydrated leaves off our trees. Because it has been so dry, they barely had a chance to change colour and they're tumbling across my yard and over the horizon. Fall is all but here, and today I felt the first hints of winter: single digit temperatures and an icy wind. AND IT IS STILL TECHNICALLY SUMMER. But this will be my last prairie fall, or Second Season of the Wind, so I'll take it. 

Our family is relocating.

It's a big change for us: hopping two provinces westward, embracing a different climate (huzzah!), creating new routines, forming new community and shifting our lifestyle. It's exciting and it fell into place after almost four years of tentative dreaming (after each summer vacation: wouldn't it be nice to stay here forever?), dedicated planning (husband working the network to get a new job; purging the house; number-crunching; letting go of our dream farm-future) and starry and planetary alignment (the job offer came on the eclipse!). 

But I'm living in limboland right now, and will be for the foreseeable future.

My husband left yesterday to relocate to our new life. 

I get to stay here in our "old" life, job, house and routines until our home/farm sells.

Then we'll all be reunited on a dreamy island off the west coast of Canada.  

Limboland is a weird place. I'm super duper excited about what's next -- after all, I'm a what's next kind of person (great starter, not such a strong finisher, because LOOK OVER THERE AT THAT NEW THING! I want to go there!), but I have to contain my excitement and not live too far into future, because the current/old life could continue for months, or maybe a year a more. And I will run out of enthusiasm/energy/optimism mid-way. 

So, I'm trying to keep smaller milestones in sight: Get the house listed. Get the man-friend packed up and off on his travels. Get the child settled into another school year. Get the projects done at work. Coach the amazing clients. Make the bed. Empty the dishwasher. Walk the dog. Sell the stuff. Sell the house. And still keep the dream alive. 

It's interesting to notice how I'm NOT COMPLETELY FREAKING OUT, ahem, how I'm embracing the un-planned-ness of my future -- once the house sells and I quit my full-time gig here, I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S NEXT. There is no plan, other than a vague idea of ramping up my coaching practice and then... who knows? There is something totally scary AND freeing in the not knowing. 

I'm revelling in the idea of being a full-er-time coach, being able to walk my kiddo to and from school and kung fu and go kayaking some morning JUST BECAUSE I WANT TO. Maybe I'll host art-based coaching workshops from our new garage-turned-studio space...and teach meditation classes at the local rec centre....and write those other books I've been meaning to write.

Ditching the 8-5 office job seems a critical next and permanent step.

I'm especially looking forward to embracing a more minimal lifestyle. Being a single-car family, living in a smaller home with a smaller (non-farm) yard, enjoying more experiences and time with each other and less stuff. It means I won't need to be tied to that 8-5 grind because we won't be reliant on it. More freedom. 

I'm torn between starting new things here and now, and waiting until I've moved. So, I've tested out a few things to see if they shift the universe (i.e., send a buyer for our place), including:

• Getting new photos with the fabulously talented Michael Bell. The sprucing up of this site will follow soon. 
• Signing up for a kung fu class (my kid is attending one, and there's an adult class at the same time, so there really didn't seem to be a reason NOT to...)
• Collaborating to co-lead a women's retreat next spring in a forest near Vancouver (!!!)
• Buying an ungodly amount of delicious fancy-pants cheese from my pal Aleana at Takeaway Gourmet
• Committing to a new workout routine (Did you see the note about the cheese? Ugh.)

I'll keep you posted on the imminent move, and what it's like in between now and then, and then some. 

In love and light,

Jilly