“Honor the space between no longer and not yet.”

― Nancy Levin

There is a place I like to dive called Hart’s Cove. Lying near the mouth of the Pisquatagua River as it collides with the ocean, it is subject to the whims of the tides. It is also a place steeped in history with shipwrecks dating back to the 1600s. The churning of the tides often uncovers long-lost pieces of pottery, glass, pipes, and coral used as ballast in colonial ships. The push and pull of the river current and the tides as they ebb and flow both cover and reveal. This place is a place of constant transition.

My dive buddy and friend, Brian, and I have been here several times. We never know what we are going to find, what the tide has decided to reveal or cover. I have learned an unexpected joy from my friend. He looks for these shards of glass and pottery, broken pipes, and coral. He has taught me that remnants of the past, even things from long ago, can be recognized for their beauty and their history, even if they will never be whole or useful ever again. I suppose the same could be true of memories in our lives. Honored for what they were with all of their beauty and the brokenness, knowing they will never be whole again

Surfacing after a dive at the Nubble to be greeted by the beginning of a beautiful sunset. We laughed, floated, and watched the sunset. I couldn’t resist capturing the joy.

The ebb and flow of the tides and the currents in my own life have been strong lately, covering and uncovering things, chaotic at times. Today is the day that I start my trek south. Almost everything I own has either been put into storage, packed to come with me, or, mostly, been given away to find new life with someone else. Memories of who I was, both the good and bad, have sprung up from the depths as I sorted through my possessions, some of which have not been touched since I was escaping my marriage.
I am no longer that woman. I am stronger and maybe a little bit wiser. My friends, especially my dive friends and law school friends, have taught me that it is ok for me to give myself some grace. Sometimes it is ok to be tired and to let others help, sometimes it is ok to be overwhelmed, and you can walk into your kitchen as you are moving out of one of the only places you have felt safe and let the tears fall. It is ok to allow a dear friend, who is doing her best to help you move, to allow you to sit with those dreadful feelings while drying your tears.

A seemingly simple picture, an example of the ebb and flow. My bedroom furniture, once given to me as I was desperately leaving my house, given to me by an another nurse who was moving is finding a new life with another woman or family coming out of recovery. The dress, at the moment too small, was given to me by ex-husband with no intention to take me out in it. I love it when I got it, I still do. I will fit into it again and take myself out.

The past few weeks have brought strong currents with a move into my parent’s basement for a few weeks while packing my camper. My van, the tow vehicle for my camper, required more work than it was worth. This van was the last vestige of my former life. I now have a new to me car that is actually my own to start this journey.

So today is the day. One could say that this dark, early morning is the calm before the storm. I would argue that the storm has now passed. I have survived the high tides and strong currents that have covered and uncovered so many artifacts and gifts in my life. I am grateful for the love and support of my friends and family. As I step off into this great unknown future, I remain rooted here in my dive community and in my law school community. I am thankful for my co-workers at my nursing job, one of whom said to me, “I want to be mad that you are leaving, but I just can’t because of what you are doing.” I will miss those co-workers.

I want to thank everyone in my life who has weathered the ebb and flow of the latest tides with me. I carry all of you with me as I start my new adventure, away from the cold and the solid, un-divable, water found in New England winters. I will keep posting about my journey as the unknown becomes revealed. Until then, we remain tethered in love and laughter.

Wishing peace, love, and light-