At the beginning of this road trip, driving through the mountains of Colorado pulling a pop-up trailer with a minivan was a harrowing experience. It took diligence and a bit of skill to protect brakes from overheating going downhill and engine from overheating going uphill. Additionally, my 2012 Honda Odyssey had warped rotors, which caused an unnerving shimmy when braking. The shimmy wasn’t a safety concern, but it added to the mental strain. Thankfully, I had the rotors smoothed in Las Vegas. But that general feeling of apprehension and inadequacy while driving in the mountains matched an internal unsettled feeling of displacement.
Every day, people we met asked us where we were from. I really hated that question. I had no idea how to answer it. Should I get into the fact that our family lived in a small resort community in western New York, but my husband and I recently went through a divorce? Or should I mention the fact that I’d intended to move to northern Michigan but couldn’t find a place to rent? Will I be judged for my itinerant lifestyle if I say we’re just traveling around the western US until international borders open and we can hop a cheap flight to South America? Or should I talk about Nomaditudes, which legitimizes this whole crazy travel experiment?
Over the past two weeks, I’ve visited dear friends in Eagle, Colorado, had the opportunity to see both the Great National Sand Dunes and Valley of the Gods at sunrise, hiked the Blue Lake Trail outside of Telluride, driven through the spectacular San Juan Mountain Range, swam in Pagosa Springs, seen both Zion National Park and Bryce Canyon at sunset, woken up to para sailers flying from our hilltop campsite in Utah, explored the pink salt water of the Great Salt Lake, and spent several days camping right on the beach of a mountain lake in Montana while leisurely exploring Yellowstone.
You would think being surrounded by all that grandeur and natural splendor would make me feel a deep sense of gratitude. Instead, I often feel guilty for not being able to FEEL anything. If I’m honest, what I usually feel is numbness peppered with moments of vague interest. I’m not sad, but I’m not happy either. I’m not completely ambivalent, but I’m not feeling the sense of awe this spectacular creation deserves. In short, I often feel unworthy. I often feel out of alignment.
When I’m out of alignment, it’s like my tires aren’t meeting the earth properly. I’m not grounded. I’m not stable. The car shakes when driving. There is this annoying shimmy that is not only unpleasant, it feels irresponsible and somewhat dangerous.
When I’m out of alignment, my brain feels foggy. I can’t think clearly. I’m easily overwhelmed. I get crabby and snap at things that would not otherwise bother me. I find it hard to appreciate the many blessings in my day. I worry about money. I worry about my kids. I worry about the global impact of coronavirus and the long-term financial outlook for our country. Small problems feel big and big problems feel insurmountable. I get scared.
When I’m in alignment, I feel grounded. I feel supported. I feel grateful for the many blessings that fill my experience and make me complete. I feel honored. I feel worthy. I feel blessed. My days feel like they are unfolding exactly as they are meant to unfold. There is nothing left undone that is meant to be done. My timing is perfect. I am exactly where I am supposed to be doing exactly what I am supposed to do. My every need is being met in precisely the manner it is meant to be met. I am truly living the space between the inception of my desires and their inevitable fruition.
But here’s the kicker. When I’m out of alignment, I completely forget how to get back to a place of alignment. So I decided to write this letter to myself as a road map to remind me how to get back into alignment when my wheels get all wobbly:
First of all, I love you. Your worry is needless. But don’t beat yourself up for losing your way. You chose to be on this planet because you WANTED to experience separation from your higher self. That separation allows you to feel contrast between what you want and what you don’t want. Both the separation and the contrast form the basis for your creative power. Don’t be afraid of the contrast. Embrace it. Use it to create the person you want to be. Use it to fuel the growth of Nomaditudes. Use it to truly connect with your children, your friends, your family and the precious people you meet every day.
I know you are longing to re-align with your higher self, the Universe and your creator, so here are some tools to get you started:
- Read your own blog posts, silly!
- Listen to Abraham Hicks or Mike Dooley.
You are loved and you are blessed. There is no doubt of this. Each day is filled with evidence of divine blessing and love. You just need to be open to receiving the messages of love that flow to you continually every day.