As I walked through thick shrubbery and down the steep path this morning, I slipped into the tiny forest beside our home and the memories of a few summers ago flooded my mind.
It was our first summer back in Norway after three years in the big (beautiful) city of Los Angeles. It was hot and humid that morning as I took my containers and descended that same steep path.
I was in search of the fruits of summer – raspberries and blueberries. I swatted mosquitoes and squatted among wild blueberry bushes, looking closely for dark silhouettes against the green leaves. I inspected each bush carefully, lifting leaves and prodding tiny branches.
It was in the repeated examination process, my containers gradually filling, that this truth came to me: life right now is a lot like berry picking – you will need to search for the good things and hold onto them. You may need to hunt, turn things over, poke around a bit, but if you look closely there is a treasure, something special here, hold onto it. I realize now that it was a prophetic thought.
I was just starting another three-year adjustment to Norway (again!). It felt like a steep descent into a dark tunnel, my feet unsure of the next step, my hands groping for bearings, seeking for light, inching forward in fear; my heart pounding in my ears.
In that darkness and uncertainty, my daydreams replayed in haunting sadness. All day long I would involuntarily remember images and places, sensations and memories of Los Angeles. I was in the darkness of transition, yet my mind was caught in the vivid brightness of California. The daydreams lasted about a year.
In hindsight I can see that my heart was utterly broken. My mind was telling me every day, but I didn’t really listen. Instead I soldiered on, determined to try every light switch in the dark tunnel: gathering phone numbers of other moms, making play dates, joining the choir, going to the small group, and after a year and half the darkness felt just as deep. I had found a few faint lights, but many never turned on.
As the daydreams faded and the darkness persisted, my imagination took over – I pictured a life back in the US and tried to get logistics to line up with my wishes. When nothing came through, I fell into despair although much of it remained hidden below my consciousness.
In the midst of this our second little boy arrived, and we embarked on another transition as we became four. It was both joyful and grueling. At a particularly low point, a tiny virus invaded the world and my darkness and isolation became a collective experience practically overnight. When a digital world of resources from the US became available, home seemed a little less far away easing my displacement. Then kind spiritual guides came alongside me with encouragement that suited the world, but it felt like it was especially for me.
I was reminded of the good work that happens in the dark – that is if we let it. And I saw how I could become a better self on the other side of this tunnel. I started a gratitude practice and felt hopeful. But then my husband got hired as an associate professor at the University of Oslo, and the permanence stirred up my grief. I rebelled inside as the door was firmly shut and locked on my dreams of returning to California.
I’ve been stuck there a while. Motionless and still, the sadness slowly leaked into my consciousness. I finally began to grieve the transition and loss of three years before. In the past months things have been sent to set me in motion again: books, prayers, people. They have spurred me in my search, reminding me to turn over the leaves and find the good. Really, they’ve been some of the treasures hidden under the ordinary. One gem that turned out to be one of the brightest lights in my life, gave me a nudge with this wisdom: acceptance. Maybe, she said, all you need to do is accept life as it is instead of fixing it?
Walking past a yogi tea wisdom quote in my kitchen that says, “Appreciate the life you have been given” I mentally cross out “appreciate” and write “accept.” Accept the life you have been given. And so I try to do just that. I began a mental list of the goodness I’ve found here. Yesterday I thanked my doctor for her kind, professional care, which makes it easier to be away from my home country. So I poke around, look closely, find the sweetness in life and I cherish it, say thank you, hold onto it and keep walking. Now there seem to be shafts of sunlight breaking through at the end of the tunnel.
Life is hard. We have to pay attention to the goodness in order to see it. But it is there and it will never let us go. It was true that humid summer day, and it still is true: life is a lot like berry picking – you will need to search for the good things and hold onto them.
That is what I remembered on my walk today.
It was our first summer back in Norway after three years in the big (beautiful) city of Los Angeles. It was hot and humid that morning as I took my containers and descended that same steep path.
I was in search of the fruits of summer – raspberries and blueberries. I swatted mosquitoes and squatted among wild blueberry bushes, looking closely for dark silhouettes against the green leaves. I inspected each bush carefully, lifting leaves and prodding tiny branches.
It was in the repeated examination process, my containers gradually filling, that this truth came to me: life right now is a lot like berry picking – you will need to search for the good things and hold onto them. You may need to hunt, turn things over, poke around a bit, but if you look closely there is a treasure, something special here, hold onto it. I realize now that it was a prophetic thought.
I was just starting another three-year adjustment to Norway (again!). It felt like a steep descent into a dark tunnel, my feet unsure of the next step, my hands groping for bearings, seeking for light, inching forward in fear; my heart pounding in my ears.
In that darkness and uncertainty, my daydreams replayed in haunting sadness. All day long I would involuntarily remember images and places, sensations and memories of Los Angeles. I was in the darkness of transition, yet my mind was caught in the vivid brightness of California. The daydreams lasted about a year.
In hindsight I can see that my heart was utterly broken. My mind was telling me every day, but I didn’t really listen. Instead I soldiered on, determined to try every light switch in the dark tunnel: gathering phone numbers of other moms, making play dates, joining the choir, going to the small group, and after a year and half the darkness felt just as deep. I had found a few faint lights, but many never turned on.
As the daydreams faded and the darkness persisted, my imagination took over – I pictured a life back in the US and tried to get logistics to line up with my wishes. When nothing came through, I fell into despair although much of it remained hidden below my consciousness.
In the midst of this our second little boy arrived, and we embarked on another transition as we became four. It was both joyful and grueling. At a particularly low point, a tiny virus invaded the world and my darkness and isolation became a collective experience practically overnight. When a digital world of resources from the US became available, home seemed a little less far away easing my displacement. Then kind spiritual guides came alongside me with encouragement that suited the world, but it felt like it was especially for me.
I was reminded of the good work that happens in the dark – that is if we let it. And I saw how I could become a better self on the other side of this tunnel. I started a gratitude practice and felt hopeful. But then my husband got hired as an associate professor at the University of Oslo, and the permanence stirred up my grief. I rebelled inside as the door was firmly shut and locked on my dreams of returning to California.
I’ve been stuck there a while. Motionless and still, the sadness slowly leaked into my consciousness. I finally began to grieve the transition and loss of three years before. In the past months things have been sent to set me in motion again: books, prayers, people. They have spurred me in my search, reminding me to turn over the leaves and find the good. Really, they’ve been some of the treasures hidden under the ordinary. One gem that turned out to be one of the brightest lights in my life, gave me a nudge with this wisdom: acceptance. Maybe, she said, all you need to do is accept life as it is instead of fixing it?
Walking past a yogi tea wisdom quote in my kitchen that says, “Appreciate the life you have been given” I mentally cross out “appreciate” and write “accept.” Accept the life you have been given. And so I try to do just that. I began a mental list of the goodness I’ve found here. Yesterday I thanked my doctor for her kind, professional care, which makes it easier to be away from my home country. So I poke around, look closely, find the sweetness in life and I cherish it, say thank you, hold onto it and keep walking. Now there seem to be shafts of sunlight breaking through at the end of the tunnel.
Life is hard. We have to pay attention to the goodness in order to see it. But it is there and it will never let us go. It was true that humid summer day, and it still is true: life is a lot like berry picking – you will need to search for the good things and hold onto them.
That is what I remembered on my walk today.