Le meteo

Here is today’s weather for Les Alpes Maritimes:

Today is expected to be severely stormy but no clouds.  Precipitation will be heavy and ongoing but forecasts show minimal accumulation from this highly localized front.  Brisk winds of change, the barometer falling like Newton’s apple.  Best to dress appropriately for the unexpected.

I stare out the window as I pick my way through plans and intentions for the year ahead. 

So much we don’t know. 

So much we must know. 

My husband took kids to school this morning and the house is quiet.  The clock ticks along in its steady rhythm…persistent, unyielding. 

I look up at the recessed ceiling above my desk.  It is a vast rectangle of beige, starkly offset by dark wood crown molding.  The shadows cast by the warm winter sun against the palm trees in the yard choreograph a dance that I watch transfixed. 

Like a cinematic intro, two scenes unfold on this backdrop.  Side by side…two families…two sons…a home with a view of the sea.  Their goals are the same but their methods are entirely divergent.  They push and they pull.  Figures separate and then coalesce.  There seems to be no pattern, and yet I sense the storylines unfolding.  Two different paths edge out along the periphery and each family embarks on an adventure. 

Which of the two stories is better, I wonder.  No way to know.  No spoilers here.  I will have to wait and watch it all the way to the end.  The trick is, I can only choose one of the movies to watch and will never know how the other turned out. 

This is the place in which I find myself.  Living and making choices honestly not knowing where we will land.  We own no home – our beloved cat passed two years ago – the six month lease for our Peugeot expires next month – our belongings fit in a set of boxes in a Van Nuys storage unit and some suitcases here in France.  We are not tethered…we do not necessarily belong anywhere.

And yet we belong everywhere. 

How do you prepare for a journey with an unknown destination?  That’s the paradox of freedom.

And yet we sit balanced, albeit precariously, for the moment.  Nothing is the matter.  Our children are home and still like spending time with us (well, most of the time).  We still have eight years before the number of inhabitants in our fluffy warm nest is cut in half.  Our extended families are healthy, and we are loved and supported by them all.  We have a stunning roof over our heads and plenty of food to fill our bellies. 

If I stay rooted right here in this moment, with my hot tea and favorite candle, with my pen moving at a lovely rhythm I am alright.  We are alright.

But now I’m being asked to train my eyes a few months ahead – and by extension, a couple of years ahead.  If I try to discern between these paths we face, it all feels murky and tumultuous. 

We will please some parts of ourselves with this decision – we will disappoint others.  We will create opportunity and we will close doors.  There will be laughter and there will be tears.  We make this choice and we must live with it.

And there is no right answer. 

I lean back and try to resist the temptation to battle my way forward.  I am really good at making detailed lists, creating spreadsheets with a lot of colorful data inputs, and rolling up my sleeves to dig in.  Yet I know that if I can let these moments of decision come to me in their own time – allow grace to guide my path – I will end up where I’m supposed to be. 

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window and give her a knowing nod.  Yes, Love, it is hard to let go, surrender, and feel at home with all of this uncertainty.  It’s ok, we’ll get there.

Back on the ceiling, the two shadow families converge again into one.  And it seems to me that there is peace in the unknown if I can believe that I am supported by something profound.  If I can find trust, have faith, and recognize that my home is actually inside me. 

Through this lens I can see that we are all safe under these clouds, under these stars, under it all. Come what may.

Bisous,
Hanna