Embedded Files
In Praise of Ebbs
In Praise of Ebbs
“I want to be in the flow”
—Michelle 100% of the time
“I want to be in the flow”
—Michelle 100% of the time
12/29/2024
I’ve been hustling all year—I’ve been working my job. I’ve been working my passion job. I’ve been working my hobbies. I’ve been working on staying connected with the people I love, close and far.
I have been transforming my life—for the best, I sure hope—making things happen I never allowed myself to believe were possible.
And through it all, I've felt in the flow.
But then, I burned out. I stalled. I knew I needed a break so I took it. And after the break came even more overwhelming goodness. And then, the doubts—stagnation. Not being able to push through. “What’s wrong with me?” I’ve often thought throughout my life. This question came crushing me as I dealt with feelings of grief, inadequacy, and unfulfilled desire. But fortunately, I also thought, "My God, growth is not for the faint of heart"—Which was me finally seeing the other side of the stagnation coin.
This year, as I finished writing a feature-length screenplay, I finally stepped into the version of me that I have always wanted to be: the passionate creative. The bold, truth-driven artist. The mindful, graceful, but “only listen to your own voice” version of myself.
So when my voice said, “slow down,” I did. Even if the inaction feels uncomfortable. If I take it easy, the world will collapse, right? To this, the world responds: "go take a hike".
So I did. I went to Rattlesnake ledge —which is notoriously known for its mountain goats, absence of rattlesnakes, and stunning views on Rattlesnake Lake.
Seeing the lake so low, that’s when it dawned on me: It's an ebb! Just like me right now. I can’t be in the flow all the time. Because of the ebb and flow thing.
Sometimes, we have to pull back and withdraw. Sometimes, we have to accept a low point. A moment of stagnation.
It’s hard to have any perspective from a rut, but we need to trust that we’ll come out of it hungry for the right things and in divine timing.
And when we’re next in the flow, we can remember the ebb and feel grateful for the balance of it all.
Le Soleil au dessus des Nuages*
Le Soleil au dessus des Nuages*
*The sun above the clouds
*The sun above the clouds
12/12/2024
“Blindingly grey” – That’s the expression Brad came up with on maybe our third December trip to Paris. We used to go there for Christmas at first—my mum’s wish mostly—a cherished family tradition and arguably the best time to travel if you love close crowds, overpriced tickets, and grumpy everyone.
To most Parisians, Paris in December is as magical as a burned-out Tinkerbell. Rainy weather and 6.5 hours of daylight, filtered by a thick layer of clouds. Blindingly grey.
Around the time my mum passed, we took three grey trips there in less than a year—Christmas, back two weeks later in January for her funeral, and then a support visit to my dad in November. After that, we decided life was too short to subject ourselves to Parisian winter non-wonderland and ensured our trips were carefully planned for late spring to summer moving forward.
In 2022, the summer weather was so sweet that I sunburned just walking around in my shorts. I can’t emphasize enough how much a 10:22pm sunset can boost a mood. In short—or, in shorts—Parisian summers truly are the sh*t.
So why the hell did I go in December this time? For my defense, I carefully planned around the mindfully announced end-of-year railroad strike and Christmas, ensuring I could dab into the notorious end-of-year Parisian paradox of having to prepare for a festive holiday all the while being completely burned out and in severe vitamin D deficit, but not be there for the debacle.
My saving grace was a few days spent in much sunnier Montpellier, where people still need to deal with end-of-year work exhaustion but don’t really have an option to blame their mood on the weather.
Ironically, I was barely better off than all my French compatriots when I decided to take off on December 2nd, after a late-night shoot that had me home at 2 a.m. that morning. When I woke up with 5h48m of sleep, Mount Si greeted me, emmitouflé (wrapped) in its beautiful scarf of clouds. “I’m going to miss this view for a week,” I thought.
It turned out I didn’t really have time to miss much of anything in my trip. An 8 days, 7 nights stay goes so fast that by the time I’ve planned quality time with all members of my family, a friend or two might get a crumb of my schedule, if melatonin worked the night before.
Living far away is a blessing and a curse. Moments spent together become so precious. Tensions rise because of misunderstandings or lateness that would otherwise be worth a shoulder shrug.
But when you’re here, you’re here. Now. Six months, sometimes six years’ worth of life debriefs are compressed into a few days of conversations. Voices overlap, telling similar stories with different perspectives.
And the language! It’s a bit weird understanding every single word in a conversation effortlessly. Or maybe, more accurately, my brain fills in the blanks without me having to think about it. I dwell in the familiarity of my native language, and, at the same time, I am a stranger. My mouth says weird random things in this other tongue. I bring a different perspective, and I learn about many others. Living differently shapes our brains in different ways. But in the end, the draw is the same: to connect.
The weather might seem awfully grey, but the sun always shines above the clouds and in the hearts of those you love and who love you in return.
Page updated
Google Sites
Report abuse