Suddenly I am feeling like all this old-fashioned shit is right up my street.

Is it because I have moved back to a small town? Is it because I am - in fact - becoming an old person? I have a lot of thoughts about what I previously identified as “old people things” that I now consider some of the highest forms of self-care, compassion and generally an excellent way to spend time. I have more to say on this but will try to stay focussed…

I spoke to my sister this weekend. An old fashioned phone call. A Sunday-morning-in-my-jammies phone call. No video – just voice. It felt nostalgic. There was a comfort and a peace of knowing that I could listen without being observed. Having the freedom of moving around and making faces and reacting – nonverbally – without the risk of observation and interpretation.

 

I listened and let silence be. There was more space for silence – maybe because it was only audio we were listening more carefully. We were paying attention to the silence by being more tuned into the noise – the words and ideas and the questions we were asking. We felt and needed the space the silence created. To let us think and process and reflect. On our own words and on the words of each other. 

 

And with less, from a sensory perspective, I actually got more. I felt more connected. I heard as much in the silence as the words. I saw emotions and feelings that were there, but not obvious. 

 

As a result, I was able to be more. Be a better listener and a partner in the exchange of ideas. Be curious about her perspective and experience. Be big enough to hold the space she needed without looking for or trying to make room for myself. I felt like a better sister. A real sister in every sense of the word.

 

The phone call was about nothing and everything. The discussion meandered to a variety of topics and experiences. I’m not sure how the ‘talk time’ broke down but it felt pretty even. Pretty equal. Pretty balanced. 

 

It left me feeling calm. This is not a ‘top 10’ emotion for me but I am becoming more familiar with it. I am less shocked by it when it appears. I am growing fond of it. I don’t have a patented and fool-proof method of creating it. I probably never will.

 

I am starting to notice and pay attention to what precedes the calm. In this case it was a phone call about nothing.

A discussion with no agenda, no desired outcome, nothing that either of us ‘needed’ from the other. Spontaneous. Unplanned. No control. No structure. This is hard for me to reckon with.

What precedes the calm is often spontaneous. Unplanned. Unstructured. It is a conversation about nothing.

How do you create more nothing? Worse - What if the idea of nothing is terrifying?

What if the idea of lack is what you have been trained and programmed to run from, to avoid, to destroy? This is not a new idea. It is also not an idea that I can effectively or accurately attribute. That said, it ain’t mine.

The theme of “lack” is one that runs deep in general for us as humans. It is a specifically poignant and violent theme in marketing targeted at womyn. Lacking is also a character trait and state of being that, for me personally, inspires fear and a sense of precariousness that I’m not sure is real.

And so this pivot - this redirection that started manifesting in choices and actions six months ago - has been building for longer than that. I can feel it - I have felt it for a while - but it is still largely invisible. Some of the choices and changes have been big on one scale and small on another. I suspect the changes that appear significant to others are actually dwarfed by the more material and incremental and not-yet-visible changes that are underway.

My Aunt Nancy told me that you should watch out for people who change their hair as it can often be the first outward indicator of a transformation.

My transformation is showing up differently - but I am starting to see little glimmers of it now and again. Even so, much of it is still quiet and under-processed. Like meat resting on the counter. The heat is gone but things are still happening - the meat thermometer is still moving.

And the last thing you want to do is cut into the meat too soon. This is the critical time - during the rest AFTER the cook - that often dictates if this is going to be a melt in your mouth, taste of your life type experience or just another meal.

So I am going to keep resting. Finding space where I can. Not because I want nothing but because I am beginning to understand how necessary the nothing is to the evolution and creation.

I don’t know what I am going to turn into - I am hoping for either a better version of my real self or a pterodactyl.

However this transformation presents, one this is for sure: I am not changing my hair. My hair is fucking spectacular. No evolution required.