I’m loving this new podcast I found. People are invited to share their stories, and the facilitator will guide you through questions and a closing meditation to consider your response to their stories. Each time I’ve selected a story during my walk time, it has been precisely what I needed to ponder or hear. Uplifting, on point, and so gentle. Yesterday, my happiness calendar for October 4 was “take a walk and seek out beauty.” While walking, I listened to the latest episode and was confronted with a response to a question I had been asking myself. I’ve journaled a recent story at least 3 times and stopped or erased it. It just sounded too dramatic and over-the-top. It also was such a private moment that I didn’t want to put words to it–to lessen its impact. Yet, after hearing this person’s story, which was very similar to mine, I smiled and realized how stories can connect us, bring community, and validate our journey.

I think of being alone in this moment – gloriously, completely alone, my mind protected by a full-face helmet, enclosing myself with myself – and how long this solitude will last, and how long I might want it to. (Peter Sagal “Hitting the Open Road to Find My Way Back Home”)

That was the part of the story that nailed it for me. I’ve been ever aware of ways we, as humans, wrap ourselves in solitude to heal. The comfort of our bed and blankets, a small camper nestled beside a lake or the bay in nature, a yoga mat, tents, and forts that children make out of blankets and chairs to hide from the world and escape. My husband tells the childhood story of hiding under a bed to feel the coolness of the hardwood floor and sitting under the kitchen table to listen to records. We build tree houses, she sheds, and man caves to find a space to rest and to rediscover, figure things out, or just be. I’m curious how you might seek solitude. I have some of my friends in my mind as I write this. Last night, a friend of mine in her little camper at the bay shared that she and her husband were nestled in watching a movie together. I smiled.

Several weeks ago, I found myself in the care of others due to symptoms that triggered concerns about a stroke or possible heart issues. Loss of vision in my left eye and tingling numbness on the same side of my body were alarming and worrisome, but never in a million years would I have thought that I’d be in an ambulance headed to the hospital. I kept saying, “This seems like too much.” and “I’m really healthy.” I thought if I could just get through this, I’d have some reassurance about my symptoms and be on my way. I encouraged my family and my husband to not come to the hospital to stay overnight or visit. Around 10:00 PM, I asked Parish and Valentina to leave so I could rest and said that I would be fine.

As I settled into the night, decidedly very much alone, I wrapped myself in my blankets from home and put pillows all around me and one on my head. I made a cocoon. I fell into such a deep sleep despite the noises of a hospital, and my low blood pressure helped me sink into solitude. The interruption of the nurse taking my pressure and being alarmed at how low it was made me smile. I wasn’t worried. It’s genetics, and I felt God was slowing my body down to rest. I’m here to learn something.

All the tests were normal, except for my immune system, things like monocytes elevated, and I’m thankful. After it was all said and done, I’m thankful to have had major tests completed to assure myself and my family that when the symptoms occur, or flare-up days, I know it’s not my arteries or my heart. I’m healthy. There is still more to come with autoimmune specialists and managing my neurological responses. Adapting to this new way of facing the world impacts my brain- exhaustion, slower pace, and sadness. I want things to be like they used to be. I keep telling my family, “I feel different.” Different isn’t always a bad thing. I’m shifting into the next phase of my life as I age, and I can embrace this with who I am in this moment. What does that look like for me? How do I manage my stress to create a calmer neuro-response so that I can experience life with peace and health?

I had on my calendar to call a friend, but I couldn’t because of my visit to the hospital. I called her that morning from the bed, and we talked. I shared with her where I was, why, and how. I was kind of embarrassed to be here when so many other people were sick and needed attention. She spoke into my life by sharing that this was a gift, and I should take the gift as it is and embrace it with understanding and purpose. This created another layer on my cocoon, and every person who came into the room to run a test or ask questions became a way for me to respond and ponder my way of life–what’s going on in and around me.

For a while, I would draw strength from that moment in the hospital and remember that complete peace, rest, and solitude are available. Yet, how do we provide this for ourselves without the extremes? The feeling of that moment is fading, but the lessons learned remain. I’m still learning.

I cross into Idaho around 6 pm, and just as I start to think I might need to turn my bright headlights on, I find a riverside motel, with one room left for the evening and a diner, which specializes in pie. I park the bike, shed the helmet, gloves, and jacket, and take my notebook to dinner, so I can write down all that I’ve experienced while I eat. As it turns out, after a day of silence and constant motion, I have a lot to say. (Peter Sagal)

We awaken from our solitude to face the day and the world around us with provision. Like Peter, I’m grateful for what God has provided, even the smallest things, like pie. I love that Peter, after a tragic loss, could spend time on the road and share his experiences with us, journal, and be okay with shedding his emotions and soul work.

I’ve been researching how to embrace this next phase of life. I’ve been reading, learning in my local Bible study group, and listening to podcasts with aging as a topic. There is a lot out there. We are not alone in our aging and wondering. I’d like to say I’ve found all the answers, but I haven’t. I think it is going to be a journey like motherhood was when I was raising my babies. Each season is a time to reflect and learn. My anchor is God’s love for me and my eternal home. Friends who will walk this life with me, and my family who will grow old with me. And, oh my goodness, I can’t wait to share what I learned about God the Father in my study last week. I’m hoping to write a journal about this soon.

I looked up the spelling of cocoon (there are just too many ‘Os’ in there). Another word for cocoon is swaddle or wrap. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm to be wrapped or swaddled in love, His love, like a newborn baby.

Oh, how He loves us.