I found myself last week in Greensboro, VT, on The Bend Road, in a refurbished 1965 Airstream on a roaring creek, using a compost outhouse with an umbrella as spider protection. All because of a fox.
In early 2020 I started coaches training. Then the world shut down, and we moved to zoom. I remained hopeful but wary that the connection I felt in person could be created via screens. Then a wise woman with dogs on a mountain in Colorado virtually reached into my office and convinced me to make some scary changes. She then introduced me to my 'ally.' One of my strengths. One of us saw it as a fox, probably her. I found a fox picture. Then a pin, and I keep them on my desk to remind me that I have many strengths when I feel a little lost.
Two years later, I have found several 'allies,' and my new friend is now on a mountain in Vermont.
While speaking with my coach, I felt pulled to the woods for quiet and solitude. A place to find my method of meditation. More and more trees called me. And Heather, my wise and earth-grounded friend, is in the trees. So I invited myself over for a visit.
She knew me well enough to suggest that I might need rare quiet. So she suggested an Airbnb, and I agreed to two nights in "Falling Water."
Soon I was in Vermont, driving through the hills to Cabot. I reveled in the curvy roads and loud music over my hour-plus drive. I got to see my friend's face in person for the first time. To look at her view of mountain haze. Be awestruck by a brief but powerful rain ending in a double rainbow. I was able to meet her sweet, sweet pups and husband.
Before the sun went down, I headed to the camper for my first night of solitude. I was stunned by its beauty - and my quick realization that I wanted to be home. I am a strong independent woman, but I wanted to be home in my bed, with my husband and my beautiful view. I breathed through the surprising homesickness and slept with the creek as my white noise. I awoke feeling similar, so I forced myself to journal and leave my phone aside. I headed to my friend's for a lovely day seeing the sights of Vermont with one pup.
And then I got sick.
I had to find the words and strength to say, "I don't feel well."
"I need to close my eyes and rest."
"I need to miss this beautiful drive to Stowe and donuts."
"I must go over here in the park and be sick."
"I need to go home early."
Two days after arriving in Vermont, I was back at Burlington Airport in one of the rocking chairs overlooking the runways. A day earlier than expected. My midwestern raising felt mortification and like I let my friend down. My most authentic self felt relieved that my bed was a day closer.
The trip I asked for was everything I needed and nothing that I expected. I'm still processing the joys of friendship, beautiful Vermont, and the comfort of a supportive partner at home.
I anticipated that Heather and the trees would show me a new part of me - but I found that I already had everything I needed.
I like pants with lots of pockets, no makeup, hair up, and driving fast on scenic roads. I'm tired of paying attention to societal rules and norms and paying more attention to others than myself. I don't want comments when I stop at McDonalds for a shake and fries after getting sick at Willey's.
The Fox tried to convince me to drive home for more than 14 hours. Heather kindly offered that we discuss it before I headed out. I opted for the plane. But I knew that I could drive it and will whenever I want.
Rather than looking to grow or fix more, I am leaning into the contentment of being whole and good enough. There is nothing to fix.
What would it be like to know you are whole and good enough?