Surrender is a Dirty Word

I’m in Montpellier, France, waiting to go home. This morning I checked my email and today’s quotes from The Daily Love  (http://thedailylove.com/) all featured the word ‘surrender’. This has never been my favourite word. I always think of it as giving in, giving up, letting someone or something else take control. And I like to be in charge of my own life, if nothing else. You’re not the boss of me!

Quote #1 "Growth demands a temporary surrender of security."

- Gail Sheehy, journalist, lecturer and best-selling author.

After more than 5 weeks away, I really get this. Being on my own in Europe with a backpack and no real plan was definitely more growth and less security.  You know when you leave home things are going to be different, you step across the threshold into the unknown, you deliberately choose to surrender – it’s a trade-off you have to be willing to make and accept. And you learn things about yourself and the world.

I’ve learned that I can take care of myself, that I can haul that damn backpack around, that I can make myself understood avec mon mauvais francais, that I can follow a backpacking trail, that I can reach most places on my back with sunscreen, and how to order a decent coffee in Paris, among other things.

But these last few days have taken surrender to a whole new level of argg! Once I had made the decision to return home, I wanted to Be There Now! (‘Montpellier’s 2012 tourism theme, strangely enough) But since I forgot my ruby slippers, I had to surrender to the fact that it would be another week until I was back in Ottawa.

After surrendering to a short bout of whinging and carrying on I decided to surrender to the inevitable and plan my last few days. Really, 3 days in Montpellier, on the Mediterranean coast is nothing to complain about.

But my heart wasn’t in it. I’ve had to remind myself daily to be in the moment, to pay attention to where I was. And I’ve surrendered as best I could. And I’ve seen some great stuff and eaten some great food and had some fun. But did the English walking tour and wine tasting have to be cancelled so I had to agree to the French tour with the audio pack that I would have to return the next day to get my 70 Euros back that I had to cancel because my shoe broke in the middle of Place de Comedie? The lovely people in the tourist office did give me my tour money back AND gave me some tape so I could hold my shoe together long enough to get back to the hotel. I surrendered to the mini tourist train tour and supper at the hotel, oh yes I did.

Today I went to the beach. I wore my other shoes. It was a short trip but long waits for transit connections. But when you are traveling you’ve got to surrender to the local rhythms and there was no place else I had to be.  And then there I was, under a bright blue sky, up to my neck in the cool clear waters of the Mediterranean. And I got a little teary, which I am sure was from the salt. And I was there. Me, Tracy Montgomery, swimming in the sea, living the moment. Surrendering to this beautiful, glistening, amazing  moment. Ahhhh.

Quotes #2 and #3 have nothing to do with the above but they are worth pondering if you’re like me and have always found ‘surrender’ to be a dirty word.

"Surrender is faith that the power of Love can accomplish anything even when you cannot forsee the outcome."

- Deepak Chopra, modern day mystic and best-selling author.

"When we know love matters more than anything, and we know that nothing else REALLY matters, we move into the state of surrender. Surrender does not diminish our power, it enhances it."

- Sara Paddison, best-selling author

What do you mean there is no plan?

I’ve always been a planner. I like to know where I am going. I want the illustrated guidebook and lots of time to ponder. I recently read an article that said that the majority of people are actually happier before they go on vacation, with the excitement and anticipation of planning their trip, than they are on the actual holiday. I nodded my head in agreement as I was reading; I totally think it’s one of the best parts. 

That’s one of the reasons this sojourn across the sea was so far out of my comfort zone- I was on the airplane a week after I decided to go…..so not like me. A lot of my time and energy was spent planning the next destination, mode of transport, hotel room etc. I had to work hard to stay in the moment and enjoy what I was doing instead of worrying about what was next. At least I was aware of what I was doing, and trying to stay present, right?

But there have been many times in the last few weeks where I’ve thought, “If I had planned this better” or “if I had known”, “I would have done things differently” and “Next time…” But of course we can only go with the information we have at the time, so I can do things differently next time, but for now, I just have to let things be what they are.

This morning I took my last hike in the hills of Lunas. I had planned to do a longer 5 hour hike, but with the temperature expected to go above 30 this afternoon, I knew I should get outside early, and I also knew that I had to get back before noon so I could get to the internet club to print my travel documents. So I compromised with a hike back up to Helene’s land and the last half of a hike I’d done before.

And I finally got why John likes to hike in new places. In the past I’ve just been happy to be outside, happy to let John lead, not too interested in taking the farther road, just to see where it goes. But today I realized that even though I made mistakes on my walks, and had to backtrack and search for the correct colour markings, and wonder if I was indeed going the right way, I liked the thrill of finding out I could navigate on my own, of discovering what was around the next bend or over the next hill. I had to trust that my skills and the map were up to the challenge, and I had to keep going, because when you are an hour into a two hour hike, you either go back or you go forwards or you end up sitting on a rock in the middle of the hills.

It’s kind of like life, isn’t it? We have to trust that we are on the right path, and that our skills and knowledge will get us through. We have to pay attention to where we are even as we are focused on where we are going, because while we think we have some idea, who really knows what exactly is around the next corner?

I think I’m going to be a little more open to adventure, a little more willing to take risks, a little more willing to be surprised, and definitely more confident that it’s gonna be just fine.

Message d'une Batte

My first night it Scotland, I stayed at Newbold house, a big beautiful Victorian mansion near the Findhorn community. I had a lovely big room for 4 all to myself, as I arrived a day early for the workshop. After a lovely shower I crawled into bed early- I’d been traveling for almost 24 hours with the overnight flight to London and the 9 hour train ride to Forres. 

Newbold house is set back from the road, surrounded by their extensive organic gardens and a community wood. It’s not only quiet, but peaceful. I snuggled into bed gratefully, and although it took me some minutes to relax and adjust to the strange noises old houses invariably make, I slept soundly and well.

When I woke up in the morning, I discovered I had a roommate- there was a brown bat clinging to the curtains at the window across from me. It was a bright morning, and he was nicely asleep between two folds in the heavy fabric. I immediately took a picture to share with Andrew before getting dressed and informing the staff.

Everyone was very excited, and I gave permission for the staff and guests to troop through my room and check him out before he was caught and moved to the attic for the rest of the day. It was fun to see how excited everyone was, but I didn’t think much more of it. Welcome to Scotland.

Last night, I was lying in bed reading. It was late and the only light was the wall lamp beside my bed. I was hearing some new noises- this house is very quiet because in a stone house, there is not a lot of parts to creak or shift at night. I listened, but couldn’t place the sounds, but assumed maybe some kids were moving around the path behind the house- they had been there other nights. So I went back to reading.

And then a bat flew into my room. He flew in towards the light, and then swooped out and down the stairs again. While I lay there startled he did this 3 times before disappearing down the stairs and then there was silence. I got up and shut my door so I wouldn’t have to think about him flying around me while I was sleeping, but of course I couldn’t quit thinking about him. Why is it that a bat showed up on the first day of my ‘soul journey’ and on the day I decided it was time to go home? I feel like it was a sign that this was indeed the right move.

This morning I looked up the symbolism of the bat. All the websites I consulted listed these meanings: Illusion, Rebirth, Dreams, Intuition, Initiation, Journeying, Inner Depth, and Communication. Hmmm. Pretty much exactly what this trip has been about.

I don’t expect to find any bats in my attic-less Kanata townhome, but you can be inviting the energy and lessons he brings to come home with me as I continue my journey of Becoming.

Half-Baked

Here’s what I know today:

It’s time to go home. I sat with my loneliness for a few days and after the gut-wrenching drama of it all passed, I realized that I am ready to take what I’ve learned in these last 4 weeks and integrate it into my daily life. 

I’m not done ‘Finding Tracy’. As long as I am inhabiting this body and this time-space reality, I’m never going to be done. There will be more ‘dark nights of the soul’ but I won’t be afraid to move through them-okay maybe I will, but dammit I’ll have the courage to do it anyway because I’ll know I will come back out into the light. And there will be more joy because I’m going to be looking for it, working towards it, allowing it.  

Posting this blog and actually inviting people to read it was terrifying and wonderful. I don’t like being vulnerable, but it’s true what they say, about there being strength in vulnerability. By committing to the blog, I was committing to myself- to opening to the truth. If people were going to be reading this, I had better stand behind everything I wrote. And I needed a lesson in standing up and Being Tracy.

 What I received from peoples’ response was richness beyond imagining. Miracles, even. An abundance of love. If I were to paint a picture it would be big bright circles spiraling across and off the page. I have this insane urge to buy a bucked of sidewalk chalk and decorate my driveway.

So I am going home to reconnect with my circles, to grow them, to make new connections, to continue a daily practice of Being Tracy, finding myself one day at a time.

Wild

Yesterday I ended up on Oprah.com, where they were broadcasting a live interview with Cheryl Strayed, who has just published the book “Wild” about her solo hike of the 1100 mile Pacific Crest Trail in the US.

It was a wonderful interview, and a wonderful story about a physical journey being a spiritual journey and how they overlap. About the weight of an over-filled backpack and over-burdened soul. And some interesting parallels between my journey and Cheryl’s- go Cheryl for doing it at 23!

Anyway, I was inspired to get out the hiking maps of the area I bought last week, and strike out on L1 –Les Yeuses – The Oaks. Not an 1100 mile adventure of a lifetime, but the perfect opportunity to give my mind a rest from all this soul-searching. It felt great to be outside, to be going somewhere with a purpose, and it was a beautiful day, with a big blue sky and a slight breeze.

It was less exciting to discover that a lot of the words in the directions were not in my French-English dictionary. But with a few false starts, I discovered that a blue ‘x’ meant ‘this is not the blue path’ and I successfully navigated the 4km ramble up. I love the feeling of power in my thighs when I am going uphill, and I love the feeling of air rushing back into my lungs when I arrive at a flat area. The hills here are dry, the trees green but not lush. There are several springs in the hills though, and I passed one today, where so many big, beautiful dragonflies danced in the shade off the oaks that surrounded it. As I stood and watched, one beautiful turquoise fellow perched on a leaf right in front of me, as if inviting me to take a good look.

I passed a big property, by area standards. There was a big garden, an actual green lawn, and a small swimming pool. No people around though, perhaps it is the summer cottage for a family from the bigger city. 

There were some beautiful views of the village. I couldn’t quite make out the house where I am staying, but I could identify most of the areas as I’ve been exploring for a week now. And how delightful that the path ended right outside the pub. I took it as a sign to end the hike with a beer and a sandwich on the patio before heading home for a nap.

The moral of today’s story is “Less thinking, more hiking.”

A Woman Traveling Alone -Part 2

Yesterday I got to thinking about all the wonderful people I know who live alone. Who have traveled alone, done many great things, alone. How do they do it? I mean, I understand you can’t stay in your house alone forever, life is to be lived, but for me, there is such a pleasure in sharing things. So far I haven’t discovered equal pleasure in doing things alone.

Of course, part of the reason for my trip is the fact that I have never been alone- I went from my parent’ home to my marriage home to another permanent relationship. And I needed to see what it was like to be alone, to see what it felt like, to see if I could do it.

The good news is, of course, that I can do it. I can imagine living alone and even liking it. There is a delicious freedom in deciding when and what to eat, how to arrange the furniture, how the dishes should be stacked, that sort of thing.

Something as simple as buying groceries- I buy what I feel like eating not worrying about whether anyone else will like it or not. Doing laundry at 11pm and not worrying about the sound disturbing anyone. Everything is exactly where you left it. It’s fun to be responsible only for myself – I can eat soup for breakfast, nap and then stay up late.

And of course the truth is that I can do most of those things while living with someone-although playing the music loud when your partner needs to get up at 5 am might be stretching it.

So I get living alone, having your own place, the pleasure of listening to your own needs first, and attending to them- powerful, heady stuff, I like it.

Traveling alone however, is different. 

It’s great to know that I can navigate huge airports and tiny train stations and that I can make myself understood in French. That I can make plans, decisions, and follow through, and sort things out when they don’t go exactly as planned. That is a great experience, and it gets easier and more fun each time I do it.

There is still the pleasure of choosing what where and when, but there is no one to share it with. “Look at the tiny streets, the shutters on the windows, the curtain to let in light and air but block the doorway. Look how people are walking the streets, reading their book on a park bench, because they have no yard or garden. Imagine riding a horse down this tiny street and stabling it below your house. Imagine that people have lived here in these houses for 2000 years.”

It’s just not as much fun by myself. I want to share the colour of the water and the slate menus and serving platters at le Chateau and the huge plantain trees that line the main street. It’s when I imagine sharing it with my people-how Andrew would enjoy the tiny lizards darting on the hot stone steps, how the intense colours of the hydrangeas would delight my mom, how John would approve of the hiking maps provided by Amis de Lunas. Then things are brighter, more interesting, worth taking note of. Sharing a photo on facebook gives the subject of the picture more focus, more facets.

It sets me to wondering, when other people travel, do they ever stop and think, “Oh, Tracy would love this?”

Where are my ruby slippers?

 I woke up today thinking, “I want to go home”. I wasn’t feeling fear or panic, not even particularly lonely,  just a longing for my own bed and my own things and my own place in the world.

I had a quick breakfast and headed out to watch a bit of today’s big Tournament de Boule (think lawn bowling French-style) in the courts below the cemetery. I have to admit it’s not too exciting especially when you don’t know anyone and you can’t tell one ball from the other. I remembered the last time I saw a game, at the Montgomery family picnic at the Prairie Oasis a few years back. I want to go home. 

When the excitement got too much for me, I pulled out my directions and headed up the mountain to Helene’s land. She has another little house on a piece of property in the hills with apple, pear, plum and fig trees. It was a wonderful climb and a beautiful place. There was even a palm tree tucked in between the fruit trees. I explored a bit, wrote in my journal, and then headed back down towards town. As I followed the path I realized it was a natural runway for water, and I thought about the first hike John and I took near Ottawa, where we nearly got eaten alive by all the flies just hatching along the streambeds. I want to go home.

I made coffee and checked my email when I got home, something I like to do to start my day. I want to go home.

I read. I napped. I did the dishes. I did some research about the beaches near Montpellier, and then I checked flights from there to London. I want to go home.

I thought about what I would do when I got home. Have I changed, or will I soon slip back into the same place I was before I left? I wondered if I am ready to actually go home- am I ‘done’ yet? How will I know if it is time to go home? Do I have to stay until September? Will I be letting myself down if I go home earlier than originally planned? Missing out on some great adventure, some important life lesson? I don’t know. 

What I do know today, is that I want to go home.