A Work in Progress

Making peace with uncertainty in uncertain times

Postcard from Pinehurst.

The thing I’ve probably struggled with the most in life is being satisfied with where I am. I’ve almost always wanted to be somewhere else, or wanted other people to be somewhere else. But something about right here, right this moment just never seemed good or perfect or safe enough to relax into.

That’s been changing lately for me, though. I’ve gotten a little more okay with it. Okay with making peace with the person I am right this moment, instead of trying to be a better version of me. Okay at letting other people be the way they are instead of needing to change them to feel safe or content.

It’s a work in progress.

I’m writing right now from a little brick house in Pinehurst, North Carolina that belongs to Brianna’s uncle’s mother. It’s in a neighborhood that you have to be over 55 years old to live in, and we’ve been here, housesitting, since May 1st. All year, we’ve been bouncing around North America — Colorado, Baja, Mexico, the Hudson Valley, trying to find a new place to live. Yet, nothing is really sticking yet.

Our home is a work in progress.

I don’t like Pinehurst. I might have enjoyed it years ago when I played golf, but now I find it heavy and lacking spark, a place people go to retire and give up. So, needless to say, it ain’t perfect. And some days I get frustrated. I ask myself: What are we doing here in this place we know we don’t like? Well, the answer is saving money. The house was free as long as we needed it. And we’re strapped.

Our finances are a work in progress.

Every morning, I spend a few hours working on my manuscript. It’s a book to help men heal trauma, specifically around the feminine and women, and become more loving, more noble men. It’s pretty awesome, and I can’t believe a big publisher is paying me to write it. But some days, like today, I get really stuck, and frustrated, because it isn’t clicking the way I want it to.

My book is a work in progress.

A handful of times a week, I jump online to coach one of my amazing clients. We connect and talk, and I hold space for whatever is coming up for them at the time. Often, they are struggling and wishing something could be different than it is. Often, they are uncomfortable.

My clients are works in progress.

I’m sure you’re seeing the same trend I am here. My country is a work in progress. Our world is a work in progress. My hair is decidedly a work in progress. (No good ‘cuts happening in this town.) My relationship is a work in progress.

I’m a work in progress.

And why would it be any different? Life never stops coming, after all. I guess for most of my life I’ve just one of those folks holding onto the illusion, probably conjured up decades ago as a kid being raised in an uncertain household and an uncertain world, that if I could somehow make everything certain or perfect, I’d finally feel safe and okay.

Something about this year broke me, though. In the best way. Turns out when so many things feel so uncertain all at the same time it has forced me to make new peace with what is right now. To find safety and contentment anyway. Right here. In the middle of it. In the middle of the work.

It’s been a work in progress.

So, I’m here, in this sweet, grandmother’s home where the closets smell like moth balls and where there isn’t a Whole Foods within fifty miles. (Erewhon is but a hazy, lusty memory.) Can I find peace anyway? My finances, my career aren’t exactly where I wish they would be. Can I be patient with myself, anyway? Can I be patient with Brianna, and myself, and our relationship as it deepens and we both face new challenges and opportunities as a result? Can I love my clients exactly as they are without needing them to have any specific result? Can I accept everything just as it is and know I’m good and safe regardless?

There’s a Japanese maple tree staring back through the window at me and a slight breeze rustles its brown-red leaves. Across the street, there’s an elderly woman behind the wheel of a blue Jeep Cherokee attempting to back a U-Haul trailer into her driveway, and struggling. The air conditioning vent is on full blast above me and blowing my long hair into my face, tickling my nose. I’m trying to find the right kicker for this piece, and can’t find it. But I am feeling okay. Better than okay, actually. I would say I’m quite good.

Works in progress.