Choosing to say hello
My body, empty of goodbyes, craves the rich inhale of new beginnings.
I’ve written a lot about our current home and how much it means to me on my other blog- TheBarefootBeat. Rather than saying goodbye to it again here, I’m sharing some quotes from earlier posts you might enjoy throughout this letter.
Hello.
Our cross-country move is fast approaching. Our home has transformed into a house again, stripped bare of the art on the walls, more cardboard than furniture. A paring down that honestly feels so good in my system.
“Beneath the stained carpet there are hardwood floors that creak in all the right ways. Below the layers of neglect and age and disrepair, there is hope. There is life to be restored and life to be born, maybe for the first time.” - #HeretoStay
The next week and a half will be full of logistics, last-minute packing (how many houseplants can we really fit in the car with the dog and the baby?), and some cherished one-on-one time with friends and family.
It’s a big change. Yet. My body is empty of goodbyes, unwilling to exhale anymore.
I am out of breath from the steep, perilous journey of grief; my heart needs the life-giving inhale of new beginnings.
Death has been a close companion since 2020, waves of unexpected loss like a baptism, a holy anointing I did not choose. And when the floods came, the only thing I knew how to do was climb, higher and higher. Trying to get perspective, to make sense of the devastation, the disappearance of the stable footing I once had.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if this is the right house for me. I don’t know how long I’ll stay at my current job. I don’t know if or when I’ll get married. I don’t know if I’ll ever finish writing my book.
I don’t know why loss and love are so inextricably intertwined.” - Chasing Certainty
Grief can be isolating. A necessary pilgrimage, requiring a different relationship to everyone and everything around you. The clarity that eventually comes is a gift, but there’s no returning to how things once were.
I don’t think I realized how lonely I’ve been these last few years. How ready I am to come back down from that unwanted summit, return to the village,1 breathe the oxygen-rich air and let it fill my lungs once more.
Our bodies are wisdom keepers, messengers of medicine if only we will listen.
Mine is marking a line in the sand. It’s telling me to turn my face away from the setting sun, toward a rising one. My heart, broken open by loss, is ready for the aliveness of new adventures.
This move is a turning point.
We don’t always choose our goodbyes.
But we can choose the hellos.2
I am saying hello to a fresh start with our little family of three (+ four including Maya!). Hello to hiking in tall forests and splashing in waterfalls. Hello to southern hospitality and camping with my mom and stepdad.
Hello to creating a room just for art-making. Hello to new friends and favorite restaurants. Hello to our very own family traditions- a beautiful blend of where we’ve been and where we want to go.
Hello to coming down from the mountain with a stronger sense of who I am and sharing that with others. Hello to making music and poetry and getting my hands messy. Hello to receiving help and resting, for a little while.
“Because we can still make it right.
I don’t know how. Lord knows, I don’t know how. But we have to see it all and hear it all before we can even begin to try. Not just the cracked open hearts and sidewalks, but the purple violets growing (ever so fragilely) in-between. And the pulse still beating with life (ever so faintly).
There is still life here. In our hearts, in our pain, in our sorrow and confusion and fear. - Wind Chimes and bullet holes
Hello to a heart on the mend, full of gratitude for all that’s yet to be.
Thank you for being here.
We’re hitting the road August 31st and will arrive in our new home in Chattanooga the next day! Send us love, good luck, fresh flowers, and DoorDash cards, if you can (Venmo @thebarefootbeat or Paypal)!
Of course, the best way to show support is to become a paying subscriber for $5/mo, (less than a fancy cup of coffee). ☕💌
I can’t wait to share this next season of adventures with you.
All my love,
Mariah
Your turn.
What (or whom) are you saying hello to?
Where are you in the topography of the map of your life? A valley, mountain peak, perhaps in the thick of it in the jungle?
How do you care for yourself during times of transition like a move (asking for a friend!)
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I thought a lot about Jack Kerouac’s Desolation Angels while writing this post. His time of solitude on the mountaintop at a fire-watching station and his descent at the end of the summer really resonates with me now.
In
’s book, “In the Shelter,” he talks a lot about greetings and saying hello to what is. This is one of my favorite quotes from his book.“To greet sorrow today does not mean that sorrow will be there tomorrow. Happiness comes too, and grief, and tiredness, disappointment, surprise and energy. Chaos and fulfilment will be named as well as delight and despair.
This is the truth of being here, wherever here is today. It may not be permanent but it is here. I will probably leave here, and I will probably return. To deny here is to harrow the heart. Hello to here.”
Thank you!
Isn’t it so interesting how making peace with where we are is the work and joy of being human? Being in the thick of it sounds so much more delightful to my senses now but I know it has its own challenges, as does the perspective from the inner solitude of grief. 💗
Such an inspiring post!
I’m so excited for you!
Now I’ve committed myself to working for myself full time I feel as though I’m on the edge of a tall cliff... exhilarated and terrified at the same time!!!! But it feels GOOD!!!!!!