Walking the labyrinth at sunset:, and now the sweet time

I've been doing a little reflecting tonight, wondering how to classify my life right now as "sweet." In thinking about prior years, I remembered this short piece I wrote in the Fall of 2007 while living/working at a campground in Southern California, one that had a large outdoor labyrinth. It was a difficult time then in many ways and walking that labyrinth helped put my life in some kind of order. Compared to that time, my life right now, living in a small house, becoming part of several communities, is very sweet indeed. However, it was important to read this again to see how far I've come in several ways yet have a long way to go in others. But, that will eventually come. It's all important---and sweet.

Walking the labyrinth at sunset: A reflection on 2007

The outside labyrinth here has eleven lanes, each section of a lane turning a different direction. There’s no section exactly the same: the light, trees, sounds, smells, air, thoughts, bark, granite, brick, and everything else making up the labyrinth change from step to step. Although I walk the sections in the same order each time, the experience is always different, whether I go early in the morning, before sunrise, in the middle of the day, or at sunset. A life metaphor? Yes.

This year, 2007, has been a watershed year, a turning point from one section of life to another one. Like the different sections of the labyrinth lanes, my life this year has changed almost from minute to minute. Several years ago, I longed for some kind of neutral time to separate all the transitions happening in my life; it never came. The transitions continued. Perhaps that’s the way it was meant to be. But maybe it would be more helpful to drop the idea of transition and instead think of everything as a continuous path, a movement through life, perhaps a spiral.

Buying the small RV; selling/giving away almost everything I had; making the decision not to see the MFC; trading my Sentra for a Ford pickup to tow; moving into the RV; learning how to live the life of a nomad; accepting a seasonal, seven-month job in Kanab, Utah, doing things I’ve never done before; working 40-70 hours per week at very physical jobs, getting so exhausted I could barely move; towing the pickup truck behind the RV for the first time, in gear, thus necessitating a new engine and clutch; getting a divorce; no health insurance; very little money; the ups and downs of a relationship; doing things with friends rather than a husband; being alone much of the time yet finding I enjoy my own company; the middle-of-the-night panics when things look dark; the necessity to reach out to others and share my gifts with them; moving from a feeling of inferiority to one of confidence.