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A little delay on my weekly blogging. But not as delayed as my luggage. I type from a sunny day in the Sunapee/New London area of New Hampshire. I'm happy to look down at my legs and see that I'm wearing a pair of favourite pants - a pair of pants I had with me during my time in Portugal and that were returned to me with the rest of my luggage 9 days after the fact, during the middle of the night, by a courier service based out of Boston.

Since last weekend it's been.... busy. TransAtlantic flying. Packing up one house. Opening up to a new home. Reconnecting with my love. Falling back into life. Entering a new frontier of professional life. Meeting new co-workers. Settling into 50-minute hours with clients of all shapes, sizes, and ages! Saying goodbye to faces in Portugal. Recognizing that my connections in northern New Hampshire will take on a new shade - visitor rather than neighbour. Change.

Some of the details.

The move went ridiculously smooth. Bradford certainly found an incredible home for us, lovely in so many ways - from the amount of space within the home to the quiet of the surrounding area, the proximity to work, and a sense of community in the people that we meet as we wander around. On Monday, we walked to Ben's appointment at his new vet and it was amazing. Within 5 miles, there are lakes and ponds, mature forests of mixed trees, a state park and wildlife management area, lumberyard/hardware, fly-fishing shop, micro-brewery & pub, post office, gas station, grocery store, and all the amenities that go with a population of about 5000 people. Our furnishings and stuff simply fell into place within the walls of the house. Bradford has space for tools. Ben has a new run from a doghouse/toolshed to nearby Spruce trees.

The size of the Uhaul was laughable - 26 very long, very tall feet. I'm not sure I've ever been part of such an inefficient packing job but it worked - we were light on time for getting organized and things poured into and out of the truck with ease (though a few bruises and scabs tell a different story on my skin). It was lovely that my employer gave me the day off on Friday so we had a very luxurious and low stress, 4-day weekend for getting settled. It feels like home. And the space felt ready to hold life. And now it does. It feels to me like a space that will receive friends and family.

Work is thrilling and gentle, both. I'm in awe of my co-workers, particularly the administrative folks, the way that they move with and around each other managing and moving information. I'm also in awe of the clients I've gotten to sit with thus far. It's taking me some time getting used to the paperwork and the systems that help the organization run but I'll find my flow, my own rhythm with time. I'm working with a few clients who challenge me in exciting and uplifting ways because of their age - they fall between 9 and 11 years and I find myself somewhat panicking about meeting them where they're at, noticing that I need to adjust my use of language and developmental sense (no 'f-bombs' that seemed to have a certain presence working with adolescents in wilderness therapy, fewer multi-syllabic words that show up working with adults).

I haven't had much time for massage in the last week. I gave a session to Bradford over the weekend and I'm a little embarrassed to admit that it felt kind of like the first time. Maybe like riding a bike, as I get my hands back into the practice, it will come back.

All in all, a very cool ride. At the same time I was thinking to myself that one of the more interesting experiences I had in all the movement and change of the last week was this dance of the missing luggage. I once thought that life was about putting the pieces together in such a way so as to maximize comfort, security, stability, happiness, and ease. I laughed with Bradford, at myself, as I looked around the new home space, remarking on the way that I try to keep a house in constant readyness for a photo shoot - there's something about my dialing and neurotic ways where I'm calmed when everything is in its place and there's a place for everything (preferably with no cords showing). I think my big sister, Corry, can maybe giggle at a shared spirit here - or maybe not.

Anyway, I was thinking that I used to think of life as a process of minimizing mess and maximizing order. I happen to love my life. I love my work. I love the possibility of growth in what I do, particularly bridging psychotherapy and bodywork. I love my family, both my family of birth and my family of choice. It's not because everything is in its 'place' that I love my life. In fact, as I moved through the dance of the missing luggage, I loved the life that flowed through that experience: noticing the holding on, the constriction and tightness and noticing also when I could let go, laugh, enjoy the ride. It was particularly hilarious to notice that in one moment I might be pining over the potential loss of a favourite sweatshirt while unpacking bags of unworn clothes!

I'll attach some pic's when I hook up my camera to the computer.
It's good to be back.