As an angsty teenager I remember finding a drawer of photographs my mom had taken from trips over the years and she had countless pictures of sunsets… I said to her, “Mom seriously, why do you take pictures of sunsets everywhere?? They happen every night…”
Fast forward to a recent family trip to Maui… One night in particular our kids were on the beach letting the waves touch their toes, the light smell of plumeria flowers struck the warm air cooled by a gentle breeze and the blue of the ocean contrasted with the pinks and oranges of the sky dotted with clouds. I was filled with gratitude. Gratitude that my mom had taught me when she was still alive to heed the beauty in a sunset. I watched my kids play in the waves, and received the moment.
As a kid you accept the moment – my kids acknowledged the beauty and went back to the waves, but I wanted to stop time, to never forget this beautiful moment, to hold it in my soul because in this sunset, I felt connected to my mom. Between the touch of grief and the desire to hold the moment forever – I lost presence and slipped into fear… the what ifs consumed me, yes this is so beautiful, but what if? What if? What if? What if?
From gratitude to fear in an instant… sometimes my struggle lies in being able to accept and to lean into the beauty of a moment, understanding that I do not need to earn or justify or grip the shit out of this gift. Just be in that moment in gratitude and let it pass.
In trying to hold it, I lose it. Not only do I lose the moment, my fear takes me into a whole different framework in my mind; when I am afraid of the what ifs, I activate my bitch brain (AKA Esme) and she is loud, unrelenting, and harsh. I would love to say that I can simply sit in the awareness that Esme is driving and then switch her off, but that is simply not the case. Once Esme is driving, I can be stuck in the passenger seat for long periods of time. In fact, I am fairly certain I spent ages 3-40 in the passenger seat to Esme. Esme is who I created to provide me stability and safety as a child. Her lens is how I navigated the world and made decisions. Esme is all about perfectionism, but not being showy, be enough, but not too much. In the mode of Esme I set a course for my life – live at 93% – get the A, not the A minus, but do not be at 100%, that simply makes you a target and is not worth the pain. Life at 100%, what would that look like? What have I missed at 93%?
I had a therapist once ask me what I did for fun? What did I do simply for joy? I did not have an answer. Apparently joy, silliness, magic – those sit in the extra 7% that Esme could not find a purpose for. In breathtakingly beautiful moments, Esme asks why do I deserve this moment? What will be the cost of this moment? Who will I lose, what will I have to pay for this? I am learning everyday to have grace for Esme, she is a construct of my childhood mind and her purpose is to keep me “safe” – regulate the joy in order to minimize the pain of inevitable loss. Leaning into a life of 100% takes faith and bravery. In the 7% that I turn off – I miss living in alignment with my purpose, I miss the magic of life, I miss the reality that control is an illusion.
I am working to step into 100% – allowing my focus to be on a life of possibility and potential in contrast to making decisions to moderate and hold back. The key to my own personal abundance lives in letting go of the safe choice- viewing life from a lens of scarcity. My mom’s sunset pictures were breadcrumbs to joy. As I think of them today, I know she is sending me a reminder that even after profound losses life continues and 100% is still possible.
Sunsets – they will always remind me of my mom and that is beautiful. Life at 100% is a new concept to me and certainly not a place I am able to hold everyday, but I am working to allow it with faith. Faith is realizing the sun does set everyday; some days it will be take-your-breath-away beautiful and some days not – but the extra 7% of life is worth it, when I am able to be all in.
