There is a saying, “be careful what you wish for.” In early January, I challenged you to share your dreams for the new year instead of the usual resolutions or goals. And I said we would hold each other accountable.
My dreams were of “ongoing support” and “unexpected adventures,” with other words for the same things being “community” and “freedom,” respectively. I dutifully began looking for a plane ticket and talking about where I might move if I decided to do so. Meanwhile, because I had given up my car some time ago, I still had the adventures of riding the bus, dancing with time, and general exploration.
As part of the last, I started following Mike Dooley’s The Universe Talks “Infinite Possibilities Project,” a 30-day challenge that I wanted to witness because I thought something similar might be cool for Spirit Moxie sometime. So, although I had just committed in our last conversation to not having goals for the new year, I dutifully followed the day 1 instruction of the Infinite Possibilities Project to list at least 5 goals. These I dutifully posted on Instagram and they included such things as “laugh more” and “figure out if I’m moving.”
Then, just like in the best adventure stories, on the morning of January 12th, there was a knock on the door. I was handed a three-day eviction notice. My landlord had been foreclosed on and the apartment (which is a condo) sold. I actually knew earlier that it had been sold, but I blithely thought I could stay there until my lease ran out in late spring. “Oh,” the man delivering the notice said, “just call the lawyer listed to figure out what’s really going on.” So I did. “Oh,” they said, “that just means that after three days they’ll start real eviction proceedings.” What? The people managing my apartment checked with their lawyer. The documents I had received were legal, and my lease was not effective, as it was a contract with the previous owner. I called a friend who is a real estate lawyer. She made a couple of phone calls; all this was new to her, but yes, everything was legal.
OK, then. So, if this was opportunity rather than a crises, what next? I hate packing and moving: the process rather than being in a new space with new opportunities. And I have a lot of stuff. It allows me to entertain others, which I love. And the love includes cooking, a joy, and maybe my only craft. My stuff provides entertainment for me as well (did I mention books?) and is part of my personal history.
But I soon realized this same stuff was keeping me stuck and preventing me from those “unexpected adventures” I wanted. I could move across town one more time and seriously miss the incredible view that is literally one wall of my apartment. It’s always changing. I am looking at it now as I type, unexpectedly misted with February snow. White roofs. The river.
But what if by following adventure, I find that it really does seem right to live in Seattle? Or what if friends or family suddenly need support? What about a year in another country such as Thailand? And those are just random ideas that have come up in the past few weeks.
“Stuff,” however, makes all of this hard. My kids don’t want the dishes and don’t have room for more furniture. Plus, I learned when I was working in Chicago that if there is an Ikea anywhere near you, you can furnish a place for one to two thousand dollars. Cheaper than moving if you give up antiques and china!
Exploring options, I found an auctioneer who says he will take everything I want to get rid of. Today, one of his people came and packed all my glassware and china. Yesterday, I sent a chair that had been a wedding present to my ex-husband via our older son. And so on.
So, for those of you who know me, I should be out of the apartment sometime next week. And yes, I have somewhere to stay, one of several offers. I’ve been overwhelmed with love and support. So “ongoing support” – check. “Unexpected adventures” – check.
But what does this have to do with you? One person on Instagram said, “if you finish tidying up, do you want to come do mine too?” I don’t think my version would work for her or for very many people because these are my dreams and yours are, well, yours.
So if you dreamt of having more friends, how is that showing up for you? Did you talk about writing more? Well, are you? But a more crucial question is to look at what you dreamt and ask, “what is underneath?” What do you receive if your dreams come true? Is it scary? Exciting? Peaceful?
Look around. Did you hear a knock on the door? Did you answer?
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All photos by Spirit Moxie.
From the top:
“The” Instagram list
Apartment View (February 9, 2016)
Boxes of glassware and china






Yeah, yeah. What about the miracles you say? Nothing about a concussion and lying low fits that. Well, the day I woke up with instructions to do nothing all day the sky was just, simply grey. It was a perfect fit that didn’t demand anything of me. Yes, you say. Another coincidence. Well, the nagging past/future conversation that has been bothering me is when people either discount miracles or assume they are so obvious that they don’t delight in them. (“Delight” is a moxie trait. Really.) My most recent complicated example of feeling discounted was being with people who, if you’d asked them, believed in miracles. I love shrimp, and finding new styles of shrimp-and-grits cooking has become kind of a quest. But on my most recent trip, it wasn’t happening. The last night of the conference I went off by myself and sat at a deserted bar for a salad (since there were no shrimp on the menu and I wasn’t super hungry) and a local bourbon. The manager asked if it was OK if he joined me and brought his plate of the staff kitchen dinner a couple of seats away. Shrimp and grits. “Oh,” he said as I shared my love. “I’ll go see if there’s some left–think there might be some grits.” And a perfect bowl of grits–and shrimp to go with it–appeared in front of me. All at no charge. Miracles. What are the chances? Telling my friends about this experience (“I created shrimp and grits!”), I got an “of course” response. Where was the delight? The joy? Such events are never matter of fact for me, but I felt the miracle was discounted by those I told about it. [Just for the record, that picture is of the best shrimp-and-grits I’ve had, not the miracle ones!]























