#232: Loss, lots of mud, and a hidden force
It's been a few years now since my dad passed, and I've felt that time doesn't necessarily make the loss easier nor can it heal wounds. Instead, I've always said how pain comes in waves, and I simply learn how to move with them and navigate the waters a bit better. Maria's piece reminds me of the power of continual movement (in whatever personal form that may be) within a very connected world that is intertwined with countless links and relationships that I can be a part of and learn from. And fully experiencing the strenuous waves as well as the calm waters beside one another is perhaps a telltale part of embracing the full spectrum of the human experience, as Bill taps into in his last piece.
I hope you enjoy Maria's moving share below.
-Amanda
Loss, lots of mud, and a hidden force
A few months ago, I lost my best friend. It has been hard. I had so much to do in my practical life these past weeks that I kept postponing a much-needed mourning period, as I knew it would stop me. I simply could not inconvenience myself in that way. So, I kept going, as if I was free diving, holding my breath to the deepest possible depth. A controlled dive. And then, one day, I started making my way back to the surface, to breath. And I allowed myself to grieve.
It is still very hard, daily, but I am focused on movement. I do not think time per se helps anything, I think movement does - in a nutshell, for me, if time passes and I do nothing, there is no change. But if I move and, with time, I move more and more, then something changes (and I become something more than just grieving). But we normally give credit to time. Maybe it is my heart as a dancer saying, yes, time is key, but movement is life.
One thing that has always helped me during periods of loss is 'field work', as it just pulls me out of any inertia. And I’ve always done a lot of it. It’s quite enticing, to the point that I know that I get really bored if I’m not out there. It is almost as if life starts feeling wrong if I am not in a remote area somewhere, dealing with what seems to be chaos, impossible decisions, danger, adventure, untouched nature, discovery, and lots of mud. There is always lots and lots of mud. I've learned that in general (infinite diversity is always welcomed!), there are two kinds of people I like to work with in field missions. There are the tough ones, thick-skinned, experienced, reliable, strong, easy to follow, fair to lead. They seem to accept loss and change gracefully. They have discipline and integrity to the mission’s goal, as it is their job. And there are the ones wearing their hearts on their sleeves, hurting when they need to leave anyone behind, carrying responsibilities that are not theirs, but carrying them anyway, not feeling like they contribute much to the entire world, but doing it anyway, because it is needed there. They believe there is always a way to do better, and they try to account for all possible ripple effects. All of them.
In the absence of field work, the feeling of being connected with everything helps me. And I do mean everything. I was trained to see ecosystems in many dimensions. And what many people don't know about the concept of it, is that ecosystems are not just the structure and its intrinsic connections, but it's actually about the movement and quantification of matter and energy in the entire web. I tend to apply this concept to... well, everything. Kind of seeing the matrix, not that fundamental information of zeroes and ones, but a little more contextual, and as complex. With an ecosystem concept in mind, for me, there is no way to only think about a single end for any event or life experience. Side effects are everywhere: additions and deletions. How matter and energy will flow, then? I believe it is up to us. I can decide how to interpret the change. I can decide how to react to it. I can decide how to tell that story of change.
I am not holding my breath anymore, currently there is no mud, and with luck, some dancing is on its way.