“I have come to accept the feeling of not knowing where I am going. And I have trained myself to love it.” ~ C. JoyBell C.

Our nomadic lives are about to pull me and my husband out of Mexico and on to the next adventure.

For three months now we’ve been living in Baja; we leave in two days.

I feel like I’m “suspended in mid-air with no landing in sight.”

Technically, we know where we’re landing over the next few months: California, New York, Colorado, Vietnam and Cambodia. And then China, where I’ll be teaching for a year.

Yet, there’s so much we don’t know.

We will be on the move, experiencing people and places and cultures new to us. How different that feels from being rooted in our casita, enjoying the rhythms of beach life.

There’s something about nomadic living that brings clarity to the moment. It’s like a windshield wiper to the psyche. I see in Technicolor appreciation.

Goodbye, amigos and la playa. Adios, fish tacos and ocean air. So long, street dogs and music everywhere.

When we started living nomadically three years ago, I didn’t realize we’d be saying goodbye to home and hello to the next thing, again and again.

And yet, isn’t change the truth of life, no matter how much we stand still or move around?

Before yoga class yesterday, my teacher and I were talking about life’s uncertainties—especially in the face of nomadic existence.

She said, “You’re going to like the piece I brought.” During savasana (corpse pose), she read:

“I have come to accept the feeling of not knowing where I am going. And I have trained myself to love it. Because it is only when we are suspended in mid-air with no landing in sight, that we force our wings to unravel and alas begin our flight. And as we fly, we still may not know where we are going to. But the miracle is in the unfolding of the wings. You may not know where you’re going, but you know that so long as you spread your wings, the winds will carry you.” ~ C. JoyBell C.

We rolled over from savasana and curled onto our sides, reborn from the corpse to the fetus. Death, birth. Goodbye, hello.

And then we stood and spread our arms—our wings. An ocean wind blew through the room, carrying us.

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Relephant Read:

Trust in the Fertile Void & Live Your Dream.

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Author: Kate Evans

Editor: Toby Israel

Image: Michelle Spencer/Unsplash

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