April 8, 2024 is a day for the history books. Millions of people flocked to prime viewing points across the United States to get a glimpse of the highly marketed solar eclipse.
For approximately 20 minutes, those of us in its path were in the dark. Very much like Billy Squire’s musical tribute to darkness (“In the Dark”), we sat in and with the unknowing of the phenomenon.
My son, an environmental astronomer, spent months preparing for the big event. He participated in a community outreach event in Waco, Texas at Baylor University. With his equipment set up, he shared his knowledge to educate the public about the spectacular event they were experiencing.
Meanwhile, back home, Aiden (the Husky) and I had a front-row seat from the comfort of our backyard garden. Together on our patio, we sat patiently following each of the moon’s phases as it moved in front of the sun. Using my fancy binoculars, provided by my generous son, I got up multiple times to mark the various points in my mind. It was amazing.
As the final curtain drew down on the sun, I stood with eyes closed under the clear sky and raised my head in prayerful gratitude. I decided right then and there to give myself a new start. I thanked Divine for all the lessons, the pain, and the joy I have experienced these last few years. While I can honestly say that I spent most of the past five years feeling stuck, constantly hammered by unexpected experiences and expenses, last year I finally decided to just let go and head into the darkness.
We like to believe we are in control of our lives. The Universe laughs. Life can become so dark we experience a sense of dread as our happiness is eclipsed by a sorrow that cannot be explained. In this time, a leap of faith is required to just push through it. Every day can be a battle. Very much like the natural eclipse phenom, our emotional health can be hidden from those around us. Pasting a sunny smile on our face by day during our regular interactions, we slip behind the shadows of the moon to hide our sadness in the wee hours of the darkest night.
Working through my diagnosis, I began to realize that things must change. Boundaries, routines, and coping mechanisms needed transformation so I could manage life differently. Budgets, personal organization, and strategic planning needed to replace overspending, last-minute scrambling and short-term thinking.
As time slowly moved forward I began to become more comfortable with uncertainty and my anxiety subsided, my brain slowed down, and my body began to heal. Doing this work over the past twelve months restored me and provided me with the strength to move forward in many ways.
I now feel more comfortable saying no to suitors who are not aligned with my values and demonstrating they are a walking red flag. (Just say no, not just for anti-drug campaigns.)
Boundaries are set with family, friends, and flaky people in daily life. (Like dead people, I see them, they’re everywhere…)
No longer do I feel obligated to stay in career situations that aren’t working. I now give new jobs, like new relationships, one year to show me who they are. At that marker, I decide whether to give it more time, or the heave ho.
My confidence has grown by leaps and bounds, and I’m taking more risks with my personal and professional pursuits, only after evaluating the pros and cons and having a plan to handle what follows.
If you haven’t given yourself a year of letting go and letting it flow, I highly recommend picking a start date on the calendar and committing to a twelve-month improvement plan.
The natural phenomenon on April 8 marked the completion of my year of healing. How appropriate that the solar eclipse illustrated the story of my evolution, and at the end, the sun came out once again.